


Better the devil you know

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 40,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9268421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Married off  for political purposes, Grace's struggles to keep his loyalties.Prompt:When Graves was Grindelwald's captive, Grindelwald would never physically force him to have sex with him. He might offer Graves special treats, like being allowed to sleep in a bed instead of on a cot, or obliviating instead of killing one of Graves's coworkers who was getting dangerously close to finding out, but he'd never use the imperius curse or beat Graves into submission. And when he did rape Graves, he'd be fairly gentle.The wizarding community in America is backwards in several ways. The government reserves the right to arrange marriages in cases where it'll benefit the nation. With Grindelwald growing more and more powerful, they're in need of strong allies. When Graves is told he needs to marry some foreign diplomat, he's far from happy. Still, if it prevents Grindelwald from taking over...He goes through with it, only his new husband is a monster, who beats him and takes him violently, whether Graves resists or not. Graves tries to get a divorce on grounds of cruel treatment, but he's denied because it'll hurt America politically. One day, though, Grindelwald pays him a visit, with an offer to join him.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

The first time it occurs to him that his marriage isn't going to work out positively for him, is the first time he is   ~~raped~~ made love to by his husband a mere 4 hours after saying his vows. It been barely 6 months since the Grindelwald incident and a little over 5 since the man's escape from custody. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that this was his only way to remain _helpful_. There had been no suggestion that he might keep his career as head of department. It was marry for political gains and get a foothold in his new husbands department, away from the rumour and stain, or quit. Quitting had been discouraged as he would have been on trial himself then for providing assistance ( however unwilling ) to the enemy. He'd agreed and this is what it got him.

On his knees on his new husband's bed, fists tightly clenched in the sheets, fighting down the moan of pain that was desperate to escape. While his new husband (and the source of his distress) ploughed into him from his position wedged between his thighs. The same thighs that  had Percival fighting his instincts. Instincts that were screaming at him to close his legs, and prevent himself further agony.

It didn't surprise him that the sex made him think about Grindelwald, after all he was the only man Percival had ever been with before this so naturally his mind responded to the feeling of another man inside him by finding the closest reference point. What did surprise him was how different these two acts could be. An act had only ever been pleasurable,was currently sending waves of pain up his spine and down the backs of his aching thighs.

The thrusts into his unprepared body became jerky and uncoordinated before his husband came, then pulled out painfully. Percival heard the other man vacate the bed and the bathroom door slam, and he sat up from the huddle he'd been in. As he did so his belly cramped painfully, Percival winced and pressed the flat of his palm against his lower belly in an effort to soothe his pain. Percival worked to right what little of his clothing had been displaced it wasn't hard his pants were at his knees but nothing else had been touched. Another difference, ~~with Gellert~~ with any previous partner he'd always enjoyed striping to the skin and getting his partner just as bare to feel their skin on his. He lowered himself gingerly to sit on the edge of the bed and looked down at himself. He was shaking he noted with surprise. Despite considerable, conscious effort he was unable to bring the tremor under control, bringing the hand not kneading his belly up he rubbed anxiously at his mouth, wondering how things had gone so wrong. He was far from home in Italy, newly married, shaking and in considerable pain on his wedding night.

Lost in his pained musings, Percival was taken off guard when a  fist caught him square on the outer ridge of his left eye socket, and he was knocked off the bed by the blow. A foot then caught him square in his aching belly causing him to groan and curl tighter around the injury, not tightly enough as the next blow caught him hard in the bollocks. He keened and fought down the wave of nausea that assailed him at the impact, all the while trying to work out what was happening, and why. He was unsurprised but dismayed when a hand grabbed him by the hair and he came face to face with his husband of 4 hours. Struggling to kneel up due to the pain in his abdomen he nearly fell when his husband shook him like a terrier shakes a rat (he would have had it not been for the hand holding his hair tightly) his husband then dragged his face over to the bed and mashed it into the covers.

Percival had a moment of total panic, thinking that he was going to be taken again and worrying about the pain he was already in whether he would be able to take another round so soon after the first. “What is this?!” The shouted query was punctuated with a slap around the back of his head, before the hand pulled his head back enough that he could focus on the bedspread before his eyes. Blood, there was blood on the sheets. Percival felt dazed looking at that stain, this had never happened before. He'd been held by the wizarding world's most wanted man for a year and it was during his _marriage_ that he bled after sex.  He had only a fraction of a second to ponder this before his face was smashed into the carpet where Percival presumed that he'd spilled more blood while righting his clothing.

He was however unable to confirm his suspicion as he was hauled up and shoved bodily from the room and into the hall. Not expecting the move he bounced off the opposite hall wall and fell. A final kick glanced off his shoulder before another slammed door told Percival that he was alone.

He paused for a second, before the panic that was still thrumming through him at the idea that he might be asked to endure another ~~rape?, touch?~~  lovemaking session tonight, forced him up to his feet. One hand on the wall (it was still shaking, why couldn't he stop it shaking?) he stumbled along the corridor along to the rooms that were his. It was only once he'd nearly fallen into them and got the door shut on the rest of the world that he felt able to relax slightly.

Striping his clothes off hastily, almost angrily despite not being able to pinpoint how or when the emotion had occurred,he went to shower. Getting under the hot spray he hung his head, dropped slowly to his knees and cried. When he'd first had sex with a man (he'd offered himself as a decoy to protect one of his own, not that the one he'd sought to protect had regarded themselves as such nor that anyone had ever noticed he was gone, or missed him, but he'd seen Grindelwald's interest and had done what he could to spare his team) he'd expected what had happened today, no prep, pain, blood and his own miserable shame. However on that occasion he'd been astounded when the other man had kissed him softly, wrapped one calloused palm around both of them and had brought him nothing but pleasure, after Percival had come Gellert Grindelwald had followed soon after then sucked their combined come from his fingers while telling Percival how lovely he looked when he came.

His marriage had been such a different turn of events he didn't know how to process it, he hadn't expected romance but neither had he expected this.

Eventually having cried himself out under the comfortingly hot spray he climbed out of the shower, cast the few healing charms that he knew on himself, the got a few  painkilling and anti septic potions from the first aid kit he'd brought thinking _eagerly_ towards his return to field work and considering patching his husband's wounds in the meantime. He'd never considered having to patch himself up after a ~~rape~~ sex a mere day after leaving the US.

Briefly he toyed with the idea of fire calling home and telling them what has occurred. Two things prevent him, firstly the knowledge that his position here is necessary, war is brewing and they need all the manpower they can achieve, and all the contacts they can forge, he is more useful here that at home in a cell. The second is his own shame, he can't call home and tell them he's struggling a day after leaving. It's no wonder people think of him as weak, why he is talked about behind closed doors and why he's been sent to aid his country on his back or on his knees, rather than on his feet wand in hand facing down the enemy. No, he knows he cannot call, but as he curls into bed that first night in an old creepy house far from home, pain still curling in his gut, in his now bruised balls and other places he's trying to ignore, he still wishes he could.


	2. Chapter 2

He wakes the next morning, eases stiffly (painfully) out of bed and goes to shower. He stands under the hot spray and forces himself not to see the dark fingerprint bruises on his hips or the dark lines of bruises along his upper arms, he ignores too the ache deep inside himself as he towels off and dresses.

 

Creeping through the quiet house feels strange like he's a burglar or a young child who should be in bed rather than an adult in his own house. He feels too anxious to eat. Fueled partly by the misery from last night settling over him, partly anxiety over the future and how to resolve things with his husband so this doesn't reoccur, and partly because he's hungry. Although he doesn't like to admit it, even to himself, that he doesn't dare take food from the kitchen.

 

He wanders through the gloomy quiet house, holding his breath every time a floorboard creaks and standing stock still heart pounding. He feels foolish, but can't make himself relax.

 

Eventually after two hours of silence he can't stand the pressure of his own company or trying not to think about the previous night. He grabs his coat pulls on his boots and heads out for a walk.

 

The streets are narrow and twisted the houses on either side seeming to lean inwards blocking the light, far from the wide streets of New York. Percival feels caged but even so the tension in his chest lessens as he breathes the air and escapes the house, as he walks the aches in his hips and inside him make themselves known. But he's been in law enforcement for years and the war before that he knows how to handle pain. Pain though, pain he can deal with. The stark physical pain of what was done to him is endurable but now the shock has worn off the emotional impact is hitting him hard. He feels angry with himself, for letting this happen, taking every scrap of pain and humiliation and turning it inwards in his despair. He can't help but relive fleeting moments of what happened last night small snippets of memory. His own choked off cry of shock and pain, the impact of fists on his body, the ripping pain of penetration without preparation. His stomach curdles with shame at every memory that ripples to the surface before he resolutely forces it down and shoves the thoughts and his shame away.

 

After an hour or so, tired after fitful sleep, in pain, his legs and lower back aching, he turns around and retraces his steps to the house, he feels the dread build up with every step. He tells himself that they can talk and work this out that this won't be his life, if need be he’ll firecall home and get help. Despite his mental pep talk, his pace slows the closer he gets to the house.

 

All too soon he is standing in front of the door, taking a split second to square his shoulders and mentally gather himself, he pushes the door open slips around it and pushes it closed behind him. Standing still facing the door just beginning to unbutton his coat, he's startled badly by a stinging hex. Part of the marriage contract had been a binding spell that meant he couldn't cast any harmful magic on his partner, it went both ways surely?

 

Apparently not, he thinks as his husband grabs him by the shoulder and drags him around so they are face to face, then hexes him again. Opening his mouth to protest, Percival is surprised at the sudden ferocity of his husband, when the man purposefully slams Percival's head into the door frame. A cut opens up and Percival can feel blood run from the wound. His husband is grabbing at him, Percival panics instinctively from the violence and struggles. He ends up face down of the hall carpet under a volley of blows and hexes. “No” he gasps, “no, no no. Wait. Just wait a minute…” the words spluttered out as quickly as he can force them. A punch to the back of his head is his only response.

 

His husband's body comes down on top of his heavily pressing him into the carpet. A hand reaches between them and shoves his coat up towards his shoulders, then begins to tug at his trousers. “ No” Percival says again, as though it might work this time. He keeps on saying it while he tries to get his hands under his body to lever himself up. He hurts already though, and the body covering his is heavy. He's afraid too, heart knocking rapidly breath ragged in his chest coming out in sobs as he repeats “ no” and “ stop” and “wait” and scrambles against the floor as he tries to get away.

 

When air hits the back of his legs, as his trousers are hauled unceremoniously down about his knees, he feels his stomach clench in terrible nervous anticipation of the pain that's coming for him. He struggles harder, but quickly growing exhausted with it (he's not as fit as when he was an auror), his husband seems content to bodily weigh him down till his own struggles exhaust him. Percival tries jabbing an elbow back misses and gets a hex that causes his limbs to turn to jelly. Externally limp, but internally screaming he slumps unresisting. A heavy hand (why is all of his husband so heavy) closes around the back of his neck, while the other pokes around between his legs.

 

The first proper sob slips out as he feels his husband's erection pressing against his thigh, before being pressed against his aching, sore hole.

 

There is a beat, a single moment that seems to hang suspended, Percival can feel the blood from his head injury running past his ear down over his cheek. It tickles.

 

Then the erection is ripping into him, the hand at his neck is shoving his face into the carpet, and he's screaming. He doesn't know if the “no” and the plea of “ wait, give me a minute,please let me adjust, just give me a minute” is making it from thoughts to words. If it does it doesn't change anything.

 

Every thrust is agony, he's already raw,and pained. It seems to last forever, each moment stretching on like taffy, until eventually, mercifully it's over. His husband comes, drags himself (and what feels like most of Percival's insides) out and gets to his feet. Percival tries to curl around the agony of his belly, and to suppress his sobs of pain and misery. He's unsurprised by the hard kick to his ribs, he's booted unceremoniously onto his back, where he lies trying to stop his breathing from catching and hitching like a frightened child's.  
“You don't leave unless I tell you” his husband says without even bending down or even looking at him, the he turns and walks up the stairs. Percival remains absolutely motionless on the floor until he hears a door upstairs slam. It's only then that he dares to move.

 

Then slowly, painfully he pulls his trousers up, ignoring the mess of blood and- and other _fluids_ smeared between his legs and running down his thighs. He is still wearing his coat he realises distantly, bizarrely. Remembering the previous night and digs through his coat for his wand and casts a cleaning charm on the carpet, removing the blood, the shame from it. If only he could remove it so easily from himself.

 

Percival wearily turns and climbs the stairs stopping every few to breathe through the pain and to steady his breathing which keeps wanting to descend into sobs. His vision keeps blurring and he has to blink hard and force the tears back. When he reaches his room he banishes his clothes to the laundry, and limps to the bathroom to turn on the shower, while it it heats he counts how many phials of painkillers and healing potions he has. 6 of each. He gets a stipend as he married for geopolitical purposes, and it seems quite generous*. He will need to buy more potions, he doesn't want to run out and have to heal without aid, but if his husband flies into a rage over a walk, how is he even to do it?

 

“I'll just have to keep him in a good mood, then ask- tell him I'm going” Percival tells himself, even in his own head he sounds doubtful.


	3. Chapter three

Sunday morning arrives far too quickly for Percival, dim grey light illuminates the sanctuary of his bedroom, and he takes a moment to gather himself before he braves getting up and facing the day ahead of him. The previous day had taught him a few things about what he should be expecting from this marriage, he shouldn't go anywhere with his husband's approval and after the “incident” the previous afternoon in the hallway he'd been left alone to shower and clean himself up for a while before he'd been expected to make dinner. So for the time being this is his _life_ he's been cast in role role of homemaker and now he needs to pull it off in order to keep him new husband happy.

Groaning and making a mental catalogue of all the places where he hurts, Percival shoves the covers off and steps into the chill of the room. The cold causes other aches and pains to makes themselves noticeable. Percival forces himself to ignore them, casts a warming charm over his body, dresses and ventures out into the rest of the house. Like yesterday morning it's quiet and still, but now Percival knows what to expect from the other occupant, the whole house feels even more sinister than it had before.

He creeps downstairs and sneaks through the house again trying to find something to occupy his time that won't anger his husband. He's well aware that his continued health and happiness depends on pleasing this man, and so too does the wider co operation between their governments and departments, he can't allow his own petty feelings to cause problems.

The problem is though is that he's anxious and also somehow bored, waiting for something to happen is always a tense time, but waiting for something that will probably cause pain is akin to torture.

The day passes agonizing slowly, he makes lunch at one o'clock, but his husband never appears, so he carefully places it all into the pantry for another time. He waits again the tension, of waiting for whatever his husband will choose to give out to him, winds tighter and tighter around him until he's almost tempted to go and wake the other man just to get whatever it is that's going to happen to him over and done with. He doesn't dare though he knows what's at stake personally and professionally so he sits in a state of ever increasing anxiety and misery and he waits.

Eventually about half past five he hears movement upstairs and slides the book, he'd snuck off the shelf two hours ago and had never found the courage or the concentration to crack open and read, back into its exact position on the shelf that he had taken it from.

He wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on the front of his trousers, swallows the bile that's creeping upwards into the back of his mouth, and tries unsuccessfully to calm the jack rabbiting of his heart.

After the initial few creaks of the floorboards he hears nothing, despite this he remains sick with anxiety.

At 6 pm when no-one has come downstairs he retreats into the kitchen to make dinner. He's never been much good at household charms as a bachelor he'd mainly eaten at work or on days off dined at one of the club's, he wishes he put some effort into learning more than the most simple spells in this area now. Cookbooks are another thing he could buy when he persuades his husband to take him shopping. It might help him keep his other half in a better mood if he can present him with a well cooked meal.

He's just putting the finishing touches on the meal when he hears the door to the adjacent dining room bang closed. He jumps violently and nearly cuts his finger off with the spell he'd been using to slice the vegetables into strips. For a second he genuinely considers hiding under the counter and hoping that his husband doesn't think to look for him, before reality catches up with him and he remembers that would be the stupidest thing he's done in a long time.

Telling himself firmly that he's not a child, and that he has to take what's coming like a man. Just like his father, a tough, cold, domineering individual, had taught him, then he walks out of the kitchen to face his husband.

To his relief the man is sitting in his seat at the head of the table, he had clearly had a few drinks last night as he looks worse for the wear despite having slept the day away. Unshaven and wearing the same clothes as he had been yesterday, his husband sits reading the paper and doesn't acknowledge Percival's presence at all, it was better than Percival could have hoped for.

He slips back into the kitchen and finishes the meal quickly then plates everything and carries them back through to the dining room. His husband is still reading the paper, Percival hovers anxiously at his elbow not wanting to disturb him by speaking, and risk the pain that is inevitable when his husband notices his existence, but at the same time not wanting the meal to go cold as he needs his husband to be pleased with him so he will agree to Percival going out, he needs more painkillers, more potions to prevent infection. He needs to prevent his husband from becoming angry with him so badly that he _aches_ with it.

After a few long moments, his husband puts the paper down and leans back so Percival can place his dinner in front of him. Percival feels a wave of shame at how relieved it makes him that he doesn't have to try and say anything, but he forces it down, takes his own seat and after watching his husband start on his meal, begins to quietly eat his own. The silence stretches heavy, and thick around them, he tries to think of something to say that won't anger the other man, but any subject seems either to trivial (Quidditch, do they play it here?) Or too personal ( why are you being like this?) So he says nothing and sits eating his dinner trying not to suffocate in the strained, brooding silence.

He's barely halfway through his meal, when his husband banishes both their plates, presumably to the kitchen. His arm is grabbed and he's ushered along out of the dining room, into the hall ( he flinches, at the feeling of his ~~rapist~~ husband so close to him in the same room so soon after his assault) and up the stairs. Percival feels dread heavy in his stomach and swallows hard, they've _made love_ twice now and on both occasions he's suffered. He uses the time he is being frog marched towards his husband's bedroom, to try to work out how he can make this easier on himself. He has no oil or anything slick to make this better and doesn't know of any spells for that kind of thing although such a thing must exist, he resolves to find out.

By the time the door clicks shut behind him, he still hasn't come up with any kind of master plan, or stroke of genius to either prevent this or to make it bearable. He doesn't have time to ponder his dilemma any further as he is pushed forwards, the weight and solid body of his husband at his back urging him onwards, he instinctively shies away from the bed, remembering. But escape isn't permitted and he is bundled onto the mattress, face down, body coming down on top of him, caged in by legs and arms.

His clothes are vanished, and he is completely naked under his husband, he presses himself down into the mattress in a bid to escape the body behind him, but there is nowhere for him to go he's caught between the devil and a hard (mattress) place. He hears his husband's zipper rasping down and struggles to turn over to face him, perhaps is he gives a bit and attempts to meet his husband half way it won't be so bad, if he cooperates it'll be easier all round, quicker too, probably, hopefully.

Face to face, he stares up at his husband before reaching a shaking hand up to his face, to pull him in into a kiss, but his hand is slapped away and his husband ignores him to begin wrestling his clothing away to get his cock out.

Facing up Percival can get a good look at what is happened for the first time, he sees his husband pull out his cock and stroke himself a couple of times, then immediately begin to start trying to shove himself into Percival. Percival forces his panic down, braces himself for pain, while simultaneously trying to relax and bare down, if he relaxes it'll be easier to take, he spreads his legs wider and looks at his husband's face hoping to see pleasure or kindness or anything for him to hold onto to get through these next few painful minutes.

His husband's face is a twisted mask of greed and lust, Percival feels sicker, the cock begins to force it's way into him. Percival fixes his gaze past his husband's shoulder at the ceiling and breathes.

The cock is forced relentlessly into him, splitting him, knocking the breath out of him, he tries to angle his hips and arch his back to make the rough slide into him less painful. As soon as he feels pubic hair against him the cock begins to retreat, pulling at his insides and his sore hole as it leaves, only to be forced back again. The rough,dry seesaw slide of the cock within him makes him feel nauseated, so too does his husband's breath on his face. Percival stares hard at the ceiling, at the shadows where the glare from the wall lights doesn't quite meet. The pace within him picks up, he can hear the slap of skin on skin and he's being jolted now, it doesn't help his nausea at all.

He thinks perhaps he should be trying harder, it came so naturally before, to wrap his legs around the others hips, and urge them deeper and harder, to tell them what felt good and when he was close. Here though it's all he can do to remain still. If he moves even an inch he will shatter his own calm and will fight to get away, he won't win he has no magic to help him here and his husband is taller, heavier and fitter than him after 6 months of inaction while he was interrogated about his involvement with Grindelwald.

The thrusts grow uncoordinated and his husband comes, grinding hard into Percival, it hurts but he tries not to show it. The other man pulls out without warning, before he's softened much. A trail of come begins to leak out of him in fits and starts. Percival pulls himself out from under the other man, suddenly desperate to not be touched any more. When that movement is allowed he climbs off the bed, and moves towards the door.

A hex catched his right between his shoulders and he goes down from the surprise of it, knocking his knee into the wall and stubbing the toes on one foot.

He looks back and his husband makes a lazy “come here” motion with one hand. He can't think of anything in his entire life he's wanted to do less than walk back to the bed, he hesitates for a minute which results in getting a stinging hex right in the face. His vision blurs and he scrubs at his eyes, blinking furiously as tears run down his face from the pricking pain.

He's grabbed again by the back of his neck and is tugged back towards the bed, catching his other knee on a bed post. He chuckles suddenly at the fact that he can't go five minutes here without some injury, no matter how small, he can't have five minutes without pain.

The next rape when it comes doesn't surprise Percival, he'd known what was going to happen as soon as his husband hadn't let him leave, he reflects as he is once again fucked painfully from behind, his face pressed into the blankets, soaking the tears of pain away as though they had never been. After this assault despite the continued touch of his husband's leg against his and the hand branding his upper arm, he remains still and waits to be dismissed.

As soon as he is, he wastes no time in casting a cleaning spell on the blankets and limping back to his own room. He hopes that his clothes will be there he didn't have many to begin with he now has only a few items he hasn't been assaulted in, he can't afford to lose whole outfits.

He ends the day as has become the new norm for him, scrubbing himself raw in the shower, then using the toilet trying to expel every drop that has been left in him, then taking another shower. He doesn't take a full pain potion too aware that he doesn't have many left, so he takes half, casts some healing spells and huddles into the smallest ball he can curl himself into beneath his blankets. He hopes for a better tomorrow. He's fast running out of hope though.


	4. Chapter 4

An alarm wakes him, the sudden loud noise crashes over him, dragging him instantly from sleep. For a minute he forgets and thinks it's the alarm call at MACUSA, he throws of the covers and dives out of bed, ready to do battle with criminals to keep the New York magical community safe, when a stabbing pain in his lower belly sends him crashing to knees. He kneels panting and confused until it dawns on him gradually that he's not at MACUSA, he's not even in the USA.

The knowledge of why he hurts so badly is bubbling in the back of his mind but he ignores it. He spells his clothes on, and limps out of his room and down the stairs. He's just entered the dining room when his husband catches up with him.

“You've not time for breakfast,” his husband tell him coldly, “ you'll need to get up earlier”. Percival nods despite his frustration, if he'd known, if he'd been told he would have done so, he's not trying to get hurt. He doesn't say this out loud though, for the same reason.

“Come” his husband demands in the same clipped tones, he sounds like he's talking to a dog, and not even a dog he's fond of. Once again Percival feels his husband's hand grab him tightly around his upper arm and drag him into the living room. He wishes that his husband would just ask, he would go with him, he has no choice but to. Instead he is dragged all over the place, like he is unwieldy luggage rather than a person.

In the living room, his husband throws a handful of floo powder in the fire barks something out in Italian and shoves Percival hard in the back to get him moving.

Between the hand catching him in an area where he still feels tight and tender, his aching cramping belly, the vicious radiating pain between his legs and the fact that he hasn't traveled by floo in years, means that he makes an entrance into his husband's work place that would make a new born giraffe on ice skates seem elegant.

The pain of his ejection from the fire place and his dizziness from the travel send him crashing back to his knees for the second time in the same half hour. He's resting for a moment his hands braced on his knees, willing the pain to subside into something more tolerable, when the floo flares behind him and his husband steps out.

He takes one look at Percival, clicks his teeth and moves away to talk to the others in the room. Percival winces as all eyes look at him and his husband says something that causes a wave of laughter throughout the room. As he climbs back onto his feet, keeping the pained sounds that keep trying to slip free locked behind his teeth, he meets the eye of one of the women in the room. She smiles sympathetically at him, he wrenches his gaze away, horrified at the tears that are now pricking at his eyes at the slightest hint of mercy.

When he glanced back however he sees that he has offended her, her lips now a firm line, and whatever his husband says next causes her to join in the laughter.

Unhappiness settles over him like a well fitting coat, the first hint of friendship or kindness and he throws it in their face, it's no wonder his husband doesn't bother to show him any, he thinks angrily to himself, following his husband obediently as he leaves the room, hating himself with every fibre of his being.

He's being shown off, and show around the workplace he realises when a man accompanies them around the first floor offices, his husband speaks to the newcomer with respect in his tone, but they speak in Italian all the time so he can't follow the conversation.

He nods and smiles and tries to look like a dutiful husband as he follows the other two men around, luckily no one is paying him much attention so he can concentrate on walking smoothly and steadily. Trying to keep his back straight, breathe deeply and not pass out or weep over the pain that is crushing him.

They come to a flight of stairs and the two men head up them easily, Percival hates them both for a second, for their easy, unhurried clearly pain free movements. He drags himself up the stairs after them, by the time he has reached the top sweat is collecting on his forehead and under his arms, he feels light headed and the pain gnawing at his belly is awful, he feels sick with it, heart beating in quick flutters.

He feels strange between his legs too, damp?

The two men had reached the top of the staircase before him and had turned to wait, but it takes him long minutes to catch them up, he's breathing hard and shaking with pain by the time he makes it.

He desperately needs to take a breather so at the first men's room they come across he touches his husband's sleeve. The man grunts, as he turns to face him, Percival gestures mutely at the door, as the words dry up in his throat, at his husband's nod, he nods to both the other men pushes the door open and steps into the dim flickering light of the bathroom.

He heads for a stall, steps in and locks the door behind him. Then he lowers his pants to try and work out what's going on, he is ashamed to see blood in his underwear.

Blood! Like a woman would have during her time. Even alone shame heats his face, he knew he'd bled a little after sex but nothing where a couple of healing charms hadn't fixed things.

But he's still bleeding the next morning and enough to cause a stain in his underwear, he has a moment of terrified, panicked horror at the thought that maybe there was a noticeable stain on his pants. He checks them but the material is dark and there is no obvious sign. He casts a cleaning charm on his pants and his underwear anyway then another healing charm, then flushing with embarrassment he folds a few sheets of toilet paper and presses them between his buttocks and more still into the back of his underwear.

He stands and pulls up his underwear carefully and then his pants, it feels strange and he steps out to check in the mirror that it's not obvious what he's done. He walks as normally as he can out of the bathroom, he doesn't want to delay and have someone come in after him. He panics though now at every step, mentally cringing at the shame he would feel if the paper were to come loose or if he were to bleed through his trousers. The shame of someone knowing makes him have to fight to keep from hunching his shoulders and trying to hide, he needs to behave, keep his husband happy, so he walks along behind them as well as he is able.

They stop at a large room with desks every ten or so feet, people are milling about all over the place and calling to each other. They all stop to greet his husband, there is respect and warmth in their voices and faces when they speak to him, he answers them similarly. It feels bizarre to see the man who frightens and hurts him, acting like a _normal_ man, it feels like the scariest thing the man has done so far, exuding this false genial normality.

His husband greets all the people in the room most of whom are darting glances over at Percival, looking curiously at him, Percival is struggling not to shake under the pressure of so many eyes upon him.

He manages to keep still when his husband throws an arm over his shoulder, but when the man leans in for a kiss, he flinches in surprise.

Immediately he knows he has messed up. The room goes absolutely silent. He glances at his husband who looks furious. He swallows hard, terror snaking up his spine. This is going to be very bad he tells himself in a moment of blinding clarity.

The arm round his shoulder retreats a little until the hand has him by the scruff of his neck. The hand pushes hard at his neck and he goes with it, walking forwards as the blood drains from his face, he can feel himself blanching. His head goes lighter with it, he stumbles forward almost grateful for the hand forcing him on, his eyes are open but he can't see where he's going. Terror curdles inside him, and he can hear his breathing coming in gasps. A flare of heat in front of him startles him closer to reality and he realises distantly that he is back in the floo station for the office.

The flames turn green and his husband snarls the address then shoves Percival forwards. He falls forwards into the floo then after the usual chaos of floo travel, out of it falling hard onto his hands and knees onto the hardwood floor of the living room.

Behind him his husband steps out. Percival freezes, goes absolutely still, a small part of his brain telling him too prevent himself from being seen. Naturally in his crouched position in the living room, he stands out a little. He husband walks up to him, he standing very close. Percival can see his shoes out of the corner of his eye, him can hear the steps he takes on the hardwood floor of this room over the drum heart of his hammering heart that's pounding in his ears.

Movement causes him to look up, his husband has his wand out, he points it at Percival and then says gently almost tenderly “ Crucio”

Percival screams. His flesh is being stripped from his bones, which in turn are being broken, chipped away down to nothing. His teeth are being ripped out, along with his eyes and nails. 

Then the curse is lifted, the ghost of the agony is still threading through him, he's curled in a ball, sobbing. He hears the floo go, as his husband walks away, leaving him a shivering heap of pain on the floor.

He waits for a few minutes, let's the trembling of his limbs settle down a little and the worst of the agony fade, the he pushed himself up to sit. As he does so he realises that he's been given a gift, he has had an unforgivable cast on him. The clue is very much in the name. He scrambles to his feet ignoring the spike of pain through him, and goes to fire call MACUSA.

 


	5. Chapter 5

He can't call right away, New York is 6 hours behind Italy, so its only half past 4 there now he'll need to wait another 4 hours before he can get to speak with Picquery. She is the one he needs to speak to, not only because she is the president but also because they have known each other for a long time. She did her best for him after his kidnapping. She couldn't save him from the politics and the gossip but she had defended him where she could, hadn't let him be jailed, he'd been under house arrest for a time but never jailed.

While he waits for her to turn in to work, he goes upstairs to pack what few things he had brought with him, it feels good to be stripping the clothes out of the closet and bundling them into his case.

Having packed he showers, washing his hair and shaving his face so he looks presentable. He considers casting another healing charm to help with the fact that he's still _still_ bleeding, but he knows as much as it humiliates him to think of it that it's good evidence of cruelty, if he magics it away then it might not count, so he leaves it.

Glancing at his watch tells him it's half past twelve, so with another two hours to wait he lies down on his bed and curls around the excruciating pain in his belly and tries to nap the remaining two hours away.

He drifts between sleep and wakefulness, exhausted from the stress and agony of the past few days, and the unremitting pressure of the past few _months_ when he was constantly been tested and interrogated for being a traitor. No one had liked to believe that they could have been so blind as to not notice their boss had been replaced for a year, and so the whispers had started that he was a part of it, that he'd aided and abetted.

Tired from these trials he sinks into the bed, but unable to fully relax for fear of drifting into too deep a sleep and missing the window of opportunity to talk to Picquery. He doesn't know when his _husband_ will be back, but he doubts it will be before 5. All Percival knows however is that he very much doesn't want to still be here when the man returns.

Eventually 2.15 rolls around, he gingerly eases himself up, and tidies his hair again in the mirror, before heading downstairs to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of floo powder he places his call and waits.

He gets the main secretary for MACUSA and has to be transferred, listening while he waits to a recording of a Quidditch game that was played before he was born, he's idly tutting over the tactics of the Dodger's chasers, when his call goes through and he's face to face with Picquery.

“What do you want?” She asks bluntly straight off, unsmiling. It takes the wind out of his sails a little that she doesn't ask how he is, or enquire about his marriage or his life. “ I.. I..” he stammers feeling wrong footed, then blurts “ He used an unforgivable on me!”

He waits, she'll be horrified he knows. He waits for the shock, and the fussing over him and his health.

“Which one?” She asks instead, she sounds untroubled by this news. He gawks at her, wordless. His brain is spinning uselessly. It shouldn't matter which one they are called the unforgivables for a reason. “Well” she prompts “which one?” her tone hardening, sharpening into anger.

“C-cruciatus?” he responds, he hates how he says it like he's asking a question not telling her.

She hums thoughtfully, “ no that mustn't happen” she says. He feels him spirits lift, hope blooms into life. “ I'll call his superior, remind him of the terms of the marriage contract” she continues.

Percival feels the hope wither and die, “ W-w.. what?” he asks aghast. He tries to find the words to express what a terrible betrayal it would be to leave him here, and how a quick word with his superior will do nothing.

“ He raped me” he tells her forcing the words out quickly, not allowing his shame to prevent him from finding an escape.

She looks at him finally, focuses totally on him and says “ he's your husband!.” She says it with finality, though that makes it okay, makes it _right._ He stares at her in distress, struggling to understand, to make _her_ understand.

 “ Is there anything else?” She asks him, he flounders, he can't be saying this right, he needs to make her understand, if she understood then she wouldn't be so blasé about it, she wouldn't just dismiss this with barely a word. If she knew about the blood

“Good” she says “ because you know how important this is Graves, you know how stretched we are, all of the wizarding world needs to come together to manage this crisis” she keeps talking but he doesn't hear her. The only words he hears are the ones repeating in a loop around his memory of her asking “which one” although now he's had a moment to process he figures that can only really have meant, given that he was still able to be talking to her, that he'd been tortured, or forced to do something by his husband and she hadn't cared which one it had been he thinks. “ Which one?” and “ he's your husband” is all he hears for the rest of the short conversation before she cuts the connection, and then he's sitting in the living room cold and stiff on the floor.

The whole day has lurched from one unexpected disaster to the next that he doesn't know how to process this one. He can hardly bare to think about it, except that the loop of her words still plays in his brain. Reminding him again and again of her disinterest in whether he'd been tortured or raped.

It occurs to him, with a cold sweep of dread that leaves him retching that his husband will be back soon, and that he's angry. Cold sweat forms on his body, he's shaking, crying so hard suddenly that he's retching again, the relentless agony in his belly white hot in the face of his distress. He cries till he can't breathe, then gasps through a lonely panic attack, finally exhaustion numbs him, and he waits.


	6. Chapter 6

Exhausted, and shivering with cold and terror Percival sits on the living room floor and waits. He briefly considers running, but he has nowhere to go, he's no family left and no friends close enough to realise that he'd been gone for a year. Next his brain latches onto the idea of hiding, just remaining out of sight and hoping that if he remains quiet and still enough maybe his husband will just forget. He rejects this idea too, hiding and needing to be found, and dragged out to face the music will just cause him more problems, more _pain._

So in the end he remains where he is, he sits with his back pressed up against the sofa, brings his knees up to his chest, buries his face in the tops of his knees and waits.

Aeons later, the floo goes. He stiffens and  peeks over his knees, looking up into the furious face of his husband, I mustn't cry, he thinks. He's not sure why it matters he's cried before during a rape, but he feels now like it does matter.

For a long moment nothing happens, Percival considers briefly saying something impertinent or sarcastic just to hurry along the inevitable. His sense of self preservation, honed by years on the force won't let him, won't let him blithely make trouble for himself, not when he's in more than enough already.

The beating when it comes, is the worst so far, fists and feet pound into his flesh. He's hexed repeatedly, a foot stomps down hard on his hand and he feel the bones break, he's kicked in the ribs and the breath is forced out of him in a blood flavoured gust. By the time the beating finishes his collar bone has been snapped, his left arm now a hanging dead weight, tugging mercilessly at the blaze of pain that is his upper chest. Blood is dripping from his nose and mouth, his vision is hazy from too many blows to the head.

He is totally unsurprised when he's pulled onto his feet and bent roughly over the arm of the sofa so that his face is pressed into the seat cushions. He thinks he should feel more upset, more afraid, instead he feels empty and tired, he's so tired, tired of everything.

He wonders if it's still rape, if you are as unresisting as he is, but then he thinks about the beating he's just been given and thinks most people probably wouldn't risk a second one before they had to take a cock up their ass.

Which is exactly what he gets, a cock forcing in, where he's still raw and bloody. Hands tight on his hips, then in his hair pulling him back onto the cock that's invading him, that's cruelly ripping through his insides, hurting him.

It's not as painful in some ways as it has been, his blood slicks things a bit. But the aching pain of it and the cramps in this belly are murderous, vaguely he wonders if you can die from this. He hurts in other ways too the angle of his back hurts, his collarbone throbs, his broken hand aches, his thighs are shaking with the strain of holding them up in this position.

Hot come fills him at long last, the hand in his hair loosens and let's go allowing his face to drop back onto the cushions. The hand digging into his hip falls away, he hears his husbands clothing rustle, then his shoes on the wood floor, muffling as he steps onto the carpet of the hallway.

Percival allows his body to topple sideways onto the floor, and he lies there exhausted and bloody. He needs to move he knows, he needs to cast cleaning spells on the floor, the sofa and his clothes. He needs to go upstairs, let potions and the hot water from the shower ease away the worst of his pain. He needs to cast healing charms and take a potion to stop himself from getting an infection. He hasn't eaten today. He needs to unpack his things, because he's not going anywhere.

The list feels too long, he's too tired. He closes his eyes, and let's himself rest for a moment.


	7. Chapter 7

He comes to some unknown period of time later. His head is splitting with a headache and the rest of his body is a bright flame of agony. He struggles to stop himself from weeping from the pain that assails him. It takes a few moments before he can get his breathing under control, carefully he sits up. He uses magic to right his clothes unable to bear the added pain of physically fixing them with a broken hand and a useless arm.

It takes several attempts before he is able to find his feet, he wavers but manages to keep his balance. He finds his wand and holding it as well as he is able in his damaged hand he casts cleaning charms, there's blood on the sofa and the floor, he lets the routine, the dull monotony of the activity calm him, knowing he needs to keep his uselessly cyclical thoughts at bay, he needs to clean up, the house and himself or he'll bring down another punishment on himself, he doesn't have the time or the luxury of a breakdown.

Having set the living room back to rights, he makes his way with slow, pained determination up the stairs to his room. It takes him whole minutes to climb the stairs, he has to stop several times on the way up and hold his breath till the agony abates and he can continue once more.

Once safe in his room, the door closed on the terrors of the rest of the house, he begins to take stock of the damage that has been done to his body. He staggers into the bathroom leaning heavily on the wall to make it that far. Under the bathroom lights, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror. One eye is swollen shut, blood is caked around the rims of his nostrils, he's got a split lip. Rage wells up and he wants to smash the mirror, but just as quickly the rage dies away and he's left standing regarding his own hated face.

Shower, he needs a shower, sluice the dirt and grime of his filthy body. He banishes his clothes to the laundry and shuffles into the shower before turning it on. Looking down he can see a dark, angry looking bruise over the top upper section of his chest, cuts and bruises decorate his hips and thighs, both legs are covered with scrapes and deep bruising, one of his toe nails is black. Small bruises litter in groups across his hips where fingers have dug deeply. He looks now at his hands and arms, the hand that had been stomped on has mottled bruising in the pattern of his husband's shoe print, with little bumps across every bone across the top of his hand. In short he looks a mess, he slides his body down the shower wall and sits as far on his left hip as he can without over balancing, sitting normally would hurt he thinks.

He sits in the warm steamy spray watching as blood and dirt circle down the drain, he wishes he could cry, let some of the misery he feels out and gain himself some control over himself, but even control over his emotions is lost to him as he sits numbly. The tears that had been so eager for release now nowhere to be found.

He sits till his skin prunes, then makes himself leave the confines of the shower. He goes through his routine of healing charms, and potions. He takes a whole painkiller, but frets about how few he has remaining to him, it takes the immediate edge off his pain but doesn't eliminate it entirely. He struggles through the healing spells on his hand and collar bone, he'd never done them before only had them done several times over his career by the med staff at MACUSA. The end result is diminished pain, his hand seems fine, but he knows he hasn't managed the collarbone properly. It aches fiercely. He goes back over to the sink, gets himself a big glass of water to fill his belly until the morning. Looking in the mirror he know sees a clean reflexion, but the man who looks back at him is gaunt and frightened, he turns away from himself with a snarl.

He spells pyjamas onto his body, warm and hiding his shameful nakedness from his own eyes. He climbs into bed pulls the sheets up to him neck, tucking them round himself tightly then casts a warming charm on himself. He sets an alarm for half past five so he'll have time to make breakfast, even as useless as he is with one usable hand, he should have enough time.

 He closes his eyes and tries to think of nice things, warmth, safety, conversation with a friend, he begins to come up with a blank, until he finds himself thinking of Gellert but pushes those thoughts away. In the end he closes his eyes and begins to count down in 7’s from 1000.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for those who have read this so far and left kudos and whatnot. This is my first fanfic so feedback is really appreciated. Thanks again and hope you enjoy

 

He sleeps badly, fluttering all night between sleep and consciousness, never slipping deep enough for true sleep.As soon as he starts to drift off, the memories of the past few days assault him and he snaps awake, jarring his injuries as he jerks back into the waking world. The alarm when it goes off, vibrations rustling over him, is a relief, it means an end to the charade of trying to sleep. Despite knowing he won't sleep, and the pressing need to get up and make breakfast, Percival feels intensely reluctant to leave the safe sanctuary of his covers.

He knows also, that moving will aggravate all his injuries, which are simmering with pain while just lying down, walking and housework are going to be torment.

He doesn't delay too long, time's wasting while he lies in bed. The cold air that hits him as he slides the covers down makes his injuries throb, his eyes burn with tiredness as fatigue weighs down his bones. Pulling himself out of bed feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Dressing, and getting down to the kitchen takes him too long, he's huddled over himself like an old man. He is unable to stand upright without pain burning its way down his spine and into his hips.

Having made it to the kitchen he prepares breakfast, places a warming charm over it and then slides down the wall to sit between the counters. In the small space he pulls his knees up wraps his arms around then and physically holds himself together. Waiting once again for his husband, leaves him once again in a state of increasing anxiety.

When he hears the alarm go off, he gets to feet and places breakfast on the table. Standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself he waits. He doesn't have to wait for long, as in a flurry of movement and energy, his husband appears grabs his plate and heads straight for the floo. He doesn't acknowledge Percival's existence at all, it's one of the nicest meetings they've had together.

Ignored and forgotten for the present, Percival picks at his own meal a little then goes back to bed. Like the day before he passes the day dozing, all the while feeling the tension within him build and build as the time creeps closer and closer to when his husband will return. So far in his marriage every evening, and just about every interaction with the other man has lead to painful mistreatment.

As evening approaches he becomes more and more apprehensive about what will happen to him.

Knowing that he must face the music, and the longer he waits the harder it will be, he limps downstairs. Glancing nervously around he sees that there is nobody there, he is alone in the house. With a sigh of relief he heads into the kitchen and looks in the pantry, casting a novice eye over the foodstuffs present and racking his brains to try and think of a way in which he can combine them to make a filling and tasty meal to present to his tormenter in the hopes of appeasing him. With no hope of escape he now considers only how he can delay the inevitable and to try to keep himself as safe as possible. Exhausted, he begins to shake slightly when he recognises deep down, that there is no safety for him now. No one is missing him, no-one will come for him, there is no way out.

Forcing his mind away from the distressing topic and back onto the immediate problem of dinner, he attempts to force his body back to stillness. Snarling with hopeless frustration at his own weakness he grabs some vegetables from the pantry and goes to get the pasta. He struggles to hold it, his left arm is still not right, placing the food on the counter he runs his fingers along his collarbone. He can feel a ridge where he hasn't healed it properly and his left hand feels weaker now, his arm still feels like a weight tugging on the injury site.

Cobbling together some dinner takes more effort than it should, twice Percival has to stop and force himself back to calmness after the slightest noise has terror crashing through him. He wishes he could understand why barely a week if marriage has undone him more than a year in the company of the wizarding world's most wanted and six months of suspicion and interrogation.

He has just finished the main dish and is starting on a salad for a side dish when he hears the floo go.

Nausea rises within him, his breathing quickens, and a cold sweat breaks out all over his body. His husband has returned.

 

Percival remains in the kitchen for a few extra moments, his hands clenched on the edge of the countertop. The action causes the pain in his collarbone to intensify, but he ignores it and uses the few brief seconds to calm and centre himself, before casting a preserving charm on the food and hobbling out to meet his other half.

He spends half a second imagining a scenario where his husband doesn't hate him and they have dinner and discuss his cases at work, then retire to bed. He stops himself quickly, the juxtaposition between fantasy and reality only highlights his misery.

He hears the thudding footsteps of his husband before he sees him, and stepping into the dining room he nearly collides with the other man. Twisting away in time to prevent an impact, jars every injury he's got and pain skitters through him.

He is dismayed when a hand seizes a handful of his hair and tugs him closer. Staring unblinkingly into his husband's furious eyes he feels like he's taken a swig of ice water as cold terror sweeps through him.

He rears backwards despite the hand in his hair, but cannot go any further as he is tugged forward by the hateful restraining hand

Tugged forwards step by step towards the kitchen table, Percival considers the wisdom of fighting the other man, he won't win ( the other man has magic) but perhaps this can be a beating rather than a rape, he desperately wants to avoid another rape.

However past experience has taught him that if he's cooperative it might just be a rape, he shudders in disgust at the thought, rather than a beating and a rape. He’ll still be hurt but not as much as if he resists, submitting as best he can leads to shorter assaults too. He tries to steel himself, despite his fear and revulsion.

The thoughts of submitting quietly flee as he is pressed forward over the dining room table. His chest hits the wood and he struggles to stand up, a chest comes down along his back and the hand in his hair tugs his head back till it feels like his neck is going to snap and manages to impede his breathing.

A piece of paper is dropped onto the table in front of him, and an arm snakes around the front of his throat, Percival freezes. Caught between the body behind him ( with the beginnings of an erection being ground into his back) and the arm across his throat, he has nowhere to go. Pulled taut between the two threats, he waits.

“Read” the single word is hissed into his ear, and the hand clenched in his hair loosens allowing him to tuck his chin into the arm around his neck and look at the paper.

It's mainly in Italian, the top section bears the seal of the italian auror department, beyond that none of it makes much sense to him. He frowns puzzled. “Well?” The demand is punctuated by the arm at his neck squeezing a little tighter, not tight enough to restrict breathing significantly or cause pain, but enough to tell Percival that the other man can if he so chooses. Percival goes rigid at the implied threat.

Percival skim reads the whole document, confusion building until he gets to the bottom and see Picquery’s signature at the bottom of the page along with two others. He guesses those would be the president of the Italian law enforcement and his husband's. Heart sinking as hope that he hadn't realised he'd been hanging onto died, realisation dawns, this is his husband “punishment” for the unforgivable. One signature, and that's the end of it for _him,_ of course that's just for the unforgivable. The rape is just part of the package that Percival signed up for apparently, and everybody else is a-ok with it.

He doesn't know what to say though, he can't bring himself to apologize, however pointing out that this is a very light tap on the wrist for using banned curses probably won't go down overly well either. So he remains silent fear and resentment coursing hot and thick through his viens.

Thankfully his husband seems to feel he's got his point across, the paper remains on the table in front of them and Percival stares at it through increasingly tear blurred vision. He fights to keep them from falling, as his hands are magically bound behind his back, the angle of his arms and the rotation of his shoulder causes immense pressure to be placed on his injured clavicle. His husband blankets his back leaning over his bound arms and with the hand not across Percival's neck, reaches around and begins tugging at Percival's trousers.

Percival fights the tremors that run through him, and promises himself that he can endure this. The hand at his waist scrabbles with the fastenings of his trousers, getting them undone and tugging them down.

Percival stands, half bent over the kitchen table bare legged, feeling his husband rutting against him, almost grateful for the hand about his throat as without it he wouldn't have the leverage to remain upright, with his hands bound. It occurs to him in a blinding rush of clarity that apart from the kitchen that his husband has never set foot in, that after this he will have been raped in every room on the lower floor of the house. It's a pointless thought but he feels a wave of sorrow nonetheless that there will be nowhere but the kitchen his bedroom where he can the memories of what has occurred in that room.

He feels his husband's hand between their bodies now, clearly freeing himself from his clothes.  

Percival closed his eyes and bites his lip as his husband forces him further over the table them begins at once to claim his body with rough, violent thrusts, designed only to bring Percival pain. The other man seemed especially eager tonight, his breathing quick and ragged in Percival ear, he has no doubt that being pinned and bound under his husband's body was proving arousing for the other.

As the thrusts pick up in pace and force Percival gets jolted against the restraining arm at his throat, breathing is difficult but he offers no complaint just gasps for breath whenever he can and endures the rough treatment with his eyes closed. He wishes he could pray, pray for a quicker end to this but he has no deity, there is no-one looking out for him.

The hand at his hip tightens, the nails breaking the skin, the tiny pinpricks of pain almost lost to the big picture of pain that nearly overwhelms him. One, two more violent thrusts then the man inside him comes. Hot, spurts of release fill him, stinging in the wounds inside him, Percival hisses out a breath at the new source of distress.

The arm at his throat drops away, and without its support Percival slumps forward resting his forehead on the table, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Relief and fear war within him, relief that the worst of the pain of the rape is over but fear that there is a beating still to come. Knowing that there is nothing he can do to prevent any further mistreatment, he huddles over the table, curling into himself as much as he is able, being the smallest target he can present. The man inside him slides out with a wet noise, and gravity causes a rush of wetness to slip out with him, forming trails down his legs. He stays still, despite how abhorrent he finds the thought of this man's spend on him, _in him,_ determined not to attract attention, waiting for the other man to leave.

To his overwhelming relief his husband does leave, not just the room though, as he hears the floo go as the other man leaves the house.

Once he's gone, stillness descends upon the house again and the tension within Percival deflates a little. He starts to focus on the present, his hands are still bound behind his back, tugging, wandless magic and 40 minutes later he's freed himself. He's cold though and the wetness on and in him has dried up enough to become tacky and itchy. He pulls his trousers up casts his regular cleaning charms and goes upstairs to fulfil the rest of his evening routine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thanks everyone for the kudos and the feedback!!  
> KonBlack hey soon, soon. I'm trying to get him there asap, but it's taking its own time ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ should be another couple of chapters then stuff will gradually get better!

He sleeps fitfully again, and having only just sunk into deeper sleep, he wakes with his alarm, well before his husband, he rubs his hand over his aching eyes, they feel gritty and sore it takes all his willpower to not allow his eyes to sink closed again and allow unconsciousness to take away his pain, both physical and emotional. Gritting his teeth, braced for the inevitable physical anguish, be rolls out of bed and onto his feet.

Making his way slowly downstairs and into the kitchen, he notices that the paper is still on the table he sweeps it off and takes it into the kitchen with him. He places the uneaten dinners into the pantry still under their preservation spells, then begins to gather together the makings for breakfast.

Putting breakfast together takes only a few minutes, then he plates it all up places warming charms over the food. He then wedges himself back into the gap between the counters, the narrow space makes him feel safer as he can't immediately be seen by anyone immediately entering.

All too soon he hears the alarm go off upstairs and soon after feet on the stairs, descending down towards the dining room. He forces himself out of his bolt hole and gets the plates. Heading out he places one before his husband, puts the other before his own seat. He sits carefully, hiding his wince as sore parts of himself meet the hard chair, and begins to eat numbly concentrating on not scrapping his cutlery over the plate or breathing loudly enough to draw attention.

He finishes his meal then places his knife and fork neatly in the middle of his plate and sits silently. His husband finishes his meal, then checks his watch. Percival's pulse picks up at the implications of that one small movement. His husband beckons him over, Percival doesn't move, he can't move, he just sits dumbly staring at the other man, who makes an irritated noise and makes a more demanding “come here” motion.

Feeling light headed, he stands on shaky legs and walks around to his husband, who places a hand on his injured clavicle and pushes downwards harshly. Knees buckling, from pain and fear, Percival goes down onto his knees in front of his husband's chair.

Shivering, he kneels, hands clenched in the material of trousers covering his thighs, one of his husband's hands reaches behind his head and takes a handful of his hair. His husband shifts turning in his chair and spreading his legs wider so there will be space for Percival between then, the hand behind his head pressures him forwards. Unthinkingly he resists the forward pressure, pressing back against the guiding hand, away from his husband's clothed groin.

A slap catches him across the face, a back hand follows hot on its heels, knocking his head from one side to the other. Percival tastes blood, he can feel where his teeth has caught the inside of his cheek, his face is pushed forwards into his husband's clothed groin. His husband rocks his hips into Percival's face, while he kneels, tense and fearful, he can feel the erection firming under his cheek where he's pressed into the other man. He's pulled back slightly by his hair and the erection is freed, he refuses to look at it, clenches his teeth and swallows hard. A thumb digs into the hinge of his jaw, jabbing hard into the tender space in front of his ears, a muttered hex causes him to try to rear back at the sudden blindness that envelops him.

Blind, vulnerable he falls when another heavy slap catches him unawares, laughter over his head sends rage crashing through him, and without thinking he swipes a blow in the direction of the noise. He makes minimal contact, but the response is harsh and immediate. “Crucio”

Percival screams, he knows he's writhing on the floor, he can't see and the disorientation and pain are immense. The curse is lifted and he's hauled upright by the hand in his hair, gasping from the pain that's still dying away, he doesn't stand a chance when a cock is forced into his mouth. The hand behind his head presses him forward, the hips in front of him impale him savagely on the cock. He tries to move his tongue out of the way so it won't touch the invader, tries to back up out of the hold, but there is nowhere for him to go. Blind, his hearing seems to have been turned up, he can hear his own panicked breathing, the blood pounding in his ears. The hand and the hips work him between them, he's not an active participant here ( not like he always had been, drawing moans of pleasure as he'd licked and sucked the other man to completion), here he's a hole to be used, as the other man buggers his face. Gasping for breath raggedly through his nose, he brings his hands up to the others hips to try to control the pace and depth a little, another blow catches him across the ear and he fights to keep from biting down, fearing the terrible wrath such an action ( however accidental) would provoke.

His jaw is screaming in protest at being pried open for so long, the pain feels like he's being stabbed in the ears, lack of oxygen is making him light headed when his mouth gets filled with a bitter flood of come. Held tightly up against the other man's hips he swallows as quickly as he can, eager to make an end of this.

He's released so suddenly he overbalances backwards, striking his elbow as he falls, to his huge relief his vision is returned and he gets to watch the other man fasten his trousers up and walk out of the room, the door banging behind him. He hears the floo go, sprawled on the floor of the dining room he curls his arms around himself, he wishes it were ~~Gellert~~ someone else's arms holding him tightly soothing him after his ordeal.


	10. Chapter 10

He spends the day alone, getting more and more agitated as the day progresses,but the other man doesn't return home for dinner. He spends the evening in a state of heightened anxiety unable to calm himself because he knows what happens at night time. His mind can accept he's alone but his body cannot, skin prickling in anticipation of a blow, hex or unwanted touch. As the clock strikes midnight he retires to bed, then lies awake in the dark waiting.

He hears the floo go some interminable time later, he immediately lies flat and feigns sleep, he waits again.

When the alarm sounds, it startles him badly and he rushes to silence it heart beating wildly, adrenaline swooping through his veins.

Shaking so badly he can hardly hold his wand, he goes about his morning chores. He prepares breakfast, flinches badly when his husband comes in ( looking gray faced and wan) and eats. He holds himself taut resolutely determined not to shake apart under the pressure of a _meal._ He's amazed though when the other man sweeps out of the room without a backward glance and the floo fires.

The day passes much as the one before it had, despite the relief of his husband's absence the change in routine is jarring and unnerving. He's lonely too, shut away with noone to talk to and nothing to do.

Anxiety at the change coils through him, leaving him unable to rest, despite his exhaustion. He paces through the house, caged, retreating to him room at midnight and attempting to relax and calm himself enough to sleep. He thinks that he should be happy, he's not been raped in nearly two days, hardly laid eyes on his abuser, and yet the quiet weighs on his mind, he knows deep down that he's not been forgotten he has just been dismissed for a current higher priority, once that changes he'll be bent over or spreading his legs once again. He has needed this healing time, but now he has it he worries that when he's hurt again he won't be used to the pain. Plus as time drags on, the knowledge of what will eventually happen weighs heavier and heavier on his mind.

Friday passes in the same dreary manner, he is startled to realise he's been married for just a week, it has felt like a lifetime, interminably dragging on and on. Boredom, frustration and anxiety build until he's considering making trouble just to get some attention, be recognised. It's only the knowledge that when the attention is returned to him that he will suffer for him that prevents it.

The floo goes around 2 jolting him from the light doze he’d passed into, he hears his husband come staggering up the stairs and reasons that he must have been out drinking, the steps are slow and stumbling. They pass his room however and carry on down the hall, a door slams shut and the house falls quiet.

Saturday dawns, rain is hurling itself against the window and the house is cold. Percival doubts that there is any reason to get up and make breakfast but he can't quite bring himself to not all the same. Creeping through the house and into the kitchen shivering, he quickly makes the food plates it leaves it in the regular spot on the table and covers it in charms, before sneaking back to bed. Curled back up under the covers listening to the rain, letting the warmth of the bedclothes seep into his bones and ease away the aches and pains that still remain, he feels as close to peaceful as he has since he left Gellerts company. Exhaustion pulls at him, and he closes his eyes and let's the soft noise of the rain lull him into a doze.

Hours later he hears the other man get up, he wonders briefly whether he should get up, but decides that he's safer out of the way. He holds onto that thought until he hears the plate he left smash.

Bolting out of bed, he grabs his wand and heads down the stairs, he reaches the hall and shoves the door to the dining room open. He goes in with his wand out, wondering hoping that it's merely been an accident. He's wrong. He finds the wrist of his wand hand is seized and twisted round up his back. He twists back, nearly freeing himself, as he'd been taught years ago in training. A hand claps down over his collarbone and squeezes savagely. A surprised squeak of pain slips free before Percival can bite it and any other more embarrassing noises back. In the confusion of punches and hexes that follow, Percival thinks that he wishes he could be told the rules of life here, rather than blundering helplessly into trouble constantly. He fights though he's too stressed after days of pent up anxiety bubble up, he's nearly healed too. He fights despite the knowledge that with as few healing potions as he has remaining the fewer injuries he can sustain the better.

He kicks back hard and struggles to wrench his wrist loose, his husband responds by throwing himself physically at Percival's back and the both tumble to the floor. He knows that he has to get back on his feet the other man is heavier and taller if he can pin him down then it might be game over.  He kicks out again at the others legs, rolls over onto his knees pushing up and bolting back out towards the door. If it hadn't been for magic, he'd have made it, but then if it hadn't have been for magic he would never have been in this situation. As it is, he hears the spell fractionally before it hits him, his brain didn't have the chance to parse the meaning from the words before the snapped “petrificus totalus” sends him slamming into the floor. He's trying to endlessly, wordlessly counter the spell, when he feels hands on his body, heavy, harsh bruising hands.

 


	11. Chapter 11

He wishes he could become accustomed to violence, he thinks, as hands tug at his clothes. If he could get used to the rapes, like one gets used to an earlier wake up time, or having their dinner at a different time, if he could just mentally and physically adjust. He can't seem to though, each time hurts and frightens him just as much as the previous ones did.

He strives to concentrate, to counter the spell, but it's so hard when a hand is sliding into this trousers. His trousers are pulled down and his shirt shoved up towards his shoulders, his back is gently petted. The gentle action bring tears to his eyes, it's almost harder to bear than the violence.

Concentrating as hard as he can with tears rolling down his face, he manages to counter the spell at last.

Bursting upwards he gets his hands under himself and propels himself towards the door, a weight comes down over his back and with a snarl of terrified fury he rolls over to knock the other man off.

Fighting wildly, ignoring a stinging hex, he slams his palm into the other's face, feels a crunch beneath his palm, feels blood. He has a split second to rejoice in his victory, when a knee hits him solidly in the balls.

Retching from the sudden nausea that grips him, he curls over half onto his knees to gag and gasp out his pain.

An arm curls under his right knee, shoving it up towards his elbow, while the weight of a body comes down hard over his back. The new position causes his trousers to tear the rending of cloth noisy in the room, where the only other sound is their heavy breathing.

Flattened into the floor, and without the leverage to wrench his leg free, he's trapped, his head is smashed into the floor without warning, he bites his lip, and blood runs out of his nose dripping onto the floor in front of his eyes, but he refuses to give up.

Bucking against the weight on top of him and trying to get a handful of the other man's hair, he attempts to wriggle free. His husband is snapping at him in Italian and slapping at him with his free hand, he ignores both and digs his fingers into his floor and tries to haul himself forwards,out from under the other.

Muttered magic and he's naked again. His breath is coming in gasps and pants as he fights to be free, sweat trickling down his face. The arm under his leg hauls it higher towards his rib cage and he's pressed down harder onto the floor, another hand worms its way between then and Percival starts trying to twist his neck around far enough to bite the other man.

Desperation and fear spurring him on despite the odds stacked against him.  He feels an erection,naked, pressing against his buttocks, and in a frenzy of terror he snarls and squirms, for a heart stopping moment he thinks he's managed it that he's freed himself when he gets hit with a painful curse, the hand that had been between them grabs his hair and forces his face to the floor, forcing his to tilt his head to the side to avoid a broken nose.

Crouched and pinned he can only snarl _impotently_ when the erection is rutted against the crease of his buttocks.

He keens in pain as the cock is forced into him, feeling his flesh parting unwillingly for the intruder, his belly cramps and he bears down as though he can force it out of him, frantic with the need to get the other _out of him_ . Pain sparks up his spine, and he feels as though the cock is shoving against his diaphragm. Pain, the awkward position and the weight of the other man making breathing difficult.

The stretch is too much, he knows that the wounds that have just begun to heal will be rupturing under the pressure, he struggles like a deranged creature, maddened by the possibility of freedom, desperate to get this _thing out of him._

It doesn't last long though, a few hurried thrusts, balls slapping against him, and the other man grinds up hard, making him clench and choke on the fresh waves of agony skittering through him.

Quiet chuckles in his ear send rage and shame flooding through him, then the other man slips out, let's him go and gets up. Rage still bubbling under his skin, Percival punches him as hard as he can the blow landing on the outside of the others knee, his husband howls and boots him in the face. He feels his cheekbone break, the beating that follows he privately acknowledges could have been avoided.

Once the other man has left, he lies naked and bloody, his breathing uneven from probably - definitely broken ribs. Regret bubbles up, but he still feels a little better for having fought however stupid it was, he has nothing to look forward too and nothing will save him from this life, perhaps provoking an end is his only escape that's been left to him.

It's a thought that lasts right up until he's healing his injuries, his store of painkillers and healing potions is dangerously low, once he's taken what he needs he has one and a half left. Anxiety courses through him, he'll have to sneak out to replace them. He wishes he were brave enough that the thought didn't scare him, he wishes he were brave enough to go through with provoking his husband into killing him.


	12. Chapter 12

Sunday passes excruciatingly slowly he makes meals and leaves them under preservation spells until his husband appears and its time to sit and eat them. However he's only joined for lunch, as in the early evening his husband heads out leaving him to his own devices. Bored, and once again in severe pain, Percival wanders miserably through the house alone, then retires to bed early to make plans for the week ahead.

He has to get more supplies, he knows this he wants to ask, but is afraid to be told no, the old adage it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission runs through his mind. He reasons that he's likely to get a slap merely for speaking to his husband let alone for asking to leave, and if he's careful the man should never find out. He’ll need to buy enough potions to keep him going till the next stipend comes through in a month's time.

However when Monday arrives and he's seen his husband leave through the floo, he can't quite pluck up the nerve to open the front door and step out. He doesn't know if the wards will allow him to leave without permission or if they will alert the other to his absence. He spends the day quietly hating himself and condemning himself over his lack of courage.

He bitterly regrets his cowardice, when come evening he's face down across his husband's mattress, grunts of pain escaping with every thrust, every injury jostling for his attention. His eyes burning with unshed tears, he refuses to allow to slide down his face.

He regrets it even more when he's patching up new injuries with his fast dwindling resources. His ribs pain him every time he breathes and he's bleeding again, a slow seep of blood that creeps between his buttocks and runs down the inside of his thighs.

He hates his body and it's demands of him, but channels his hatred inwards to find the strength to do what he knows he has to.

When Tuesday dawns he gathers together his flagging courage and steps out into the street as soon as he has watched his husband leave through the floor.

He stands just outside in the early morning drizzle dampening his hair and coat, and breathes allowing the panicked galloping of his heart to slow as nothing happens. There is no immediate alarm, no one appears to punish him for his sins.  Keeping his hands in his pockets to hide how much they are shaking, he sets of walking quickly towards the marketplace, it's not far and he knows he can do a little shopping and return well before the other does.

He keeps watch for the apothecary,uncertain in the unfamiliar surroundings. When he reaches the marketplace he slows his pace to look around and use the opportunity to get his bearings.

Even after these few days by himself, the marketplace is loud, people are hurrying around busily, children and dogs all over the place, the sheer sensory overload sends his heart rate kicking up again. He walks swiftly around the crowded stalls and heads towards the stone buildings, he won't be able to read the signs he thinks but the pictures should provide him with enough information to know which shop he needs. He finds the apothecary with the minimum of fuss, he takes a moment to collect himself, before he eases the door open and slips inside.

It's cool, and dim inside, the whole place smells of herbs and potions with an underlying medicinal tang. An assistant is leaning on the counter and greats Percival rapturously as though he's an old friend thought long dead, unable to understand more than a few words and intimidated by the speed at which the other man speaks ( and beyond humiliated that he might have to try and explain or worse mime his injuries) he smiles stiffly and purposefully strides over to the potions to look at what they have on offer.

He gets the shock of his life at the prices, it's a different currency from home, but he had assumed due to the large numbers on the notes and coins that he'd been given that he had been provided with a generous stipend.

Swallowing hard, he realises that nothing could be further from the truth, the cost of everything is measured in at least hundreds if not thousands, he pulls his money from his pocket to add up exactly what he has and compare it to the costs of the vital medicines before him. It's not good, he realises in despair he only has enough for a dozen healing potions and half that of painkilling potions, not to mention buying those will completely eliminate all his money, he will be penniless until next month.

While knowing he will have little opportunity to spend any money, it had still made him feel safer to have it, even now knowing how painfully inadequate the sum he's been given is, he still doesn't know if he can bear to part with all of it.

He's standing mulling over his latest dilemma (fighting to keep from dwelling on the memories of when his life was more than the unsteady lurch from disaster to diaster) when the door behind him opens and closes, he ignores it and continues to browse the selections of potions trying to ascertain whether there may be cheaper kinds that would provide some of the properties that he needs? Perhaps he could buy the ingredients more cheaply and make his own? Brewing would certainly take up some of his time, but would have large setup costs even in America they must surely be astronomical here.

“Percival?” a voice behind him says softly, he flinches violently. Terror sweeps through him, the only thought making it through his dread is that he's been caught and he's going to pay for his crimes. His breath catches, chest stuttering with the effort to draw in air, vision tunneling, going blurry as tears flood his eyes. He stands dumbly, unable to convince himself to move, he stands waiting for the blow to fall.

At the first physical contact, he flinches from the unwelcome touch body drawing away into himself, before he schools himself back to impassiveness. To his surprise the touch doesn't become violent or painful in response to his lack of control, it remains a soft presence on his wrist.

Eyes clenched shut over the tears burning to slip free, he stands every muscle pulled taut vibrating with stress and tension. ”I'm sorry that I frightened you” the _familiar_ voice tells him, the “I'm sorry” shocks him into opening his eyes,and the familiarity that gives him the courage to look. He turns his head ever so slightly, and looks into a pair of blue eyes. “Gellert?” He asks in bewilderment.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for all your comments, kudos and everything. Thanks for reading too!

Gel- Grindelwald doesn't remove his hand, he moves it from his wrist down onto his hand. Grindelwald's hand is warm, and his thumb rubs small circles into Percival's skin, it's the first gentle touch he's had in far too long. Unbelievably despite all he's suffered in the past days,weeks, months it's the gentle action of a thumb on the back of his hand which causes a sob to tear loose. It's embarrassingly loud in the nearly empty shop, but suddenly trying to force down his emotions is like trying to pacify a Hungarian horntail.

He's shaking harder than ever, literally vibrating under the other man's hand. Percival closes his eyes again, concentrates on breathing evenly, and not letting any more tears slip down his face. Shame is beginning to curl through him, he's crying in public because he's being touched, or because he's afraid that this might be the last gentle touch he ever gets to feel.

It takes him a few long minutes to pull himself together, as soon as he feels a little more in control, he turns to face the other man opening his eyes to look at him. He wants to tell Gellert just how much he appreciates his patience while he pulled himself together, the other man hadn't hurried him or left, he'd simply stood by never letting up the soft caress of his skin.

“What's happened?” It's a fair question, a reasonable one, it's a question that anyone would ask if an acquaintance or _friend_ had begun to cry. Yet no-one has asked it of him, no one has tried to comfort him or even to try to understand the details of his torment.

Until now. Tears blur at the edges of his vision again and when he tries to reply instead of words all the can produce is an ugly gulping sound as he tries to swallow back his wayward emotions.

“Come on now, don't take on. Come on” Gellert mutters as Percival is gathered close to him. Percival leans into the warmth of the embrace, tucks his face into the other man's neck and breathes. Gellert smells like clean clothes, and washed skin, he smells good, wholesome and familiar. A hand begins to rub his back and he melts into the sturdy, protective hold of the other man a warm refuge his body remembers even if his mind is reeling. They remain like that for a few minutes, long blissful minutes until the hand nudges one of his healing ribs. Percival twitches, before he can stop himself, a hiss of pain escaping, the hand ceases it's gentle petting immediately.

With new instincts born out of pain and tears, Percival stills too, panic kicking up again, “I'm sorry” he blurts cursing himself for his stupidity, it had hardly hurt there was no need to fuss and now he's upset Gellert.

The other man pushes him gently backwards, his heart sinks, but he stops once Percival is at arm's length and he **_doesn't let go._ ** The implications of the other man's hands still being curled loosely around his elbows, gives Percival hope he can fix this. “I'm sorry,” he tells Gellert “ I am, I didn't mean.. I won't.. I'll stand still, I will I can” he's babbling the words coming out quicker and quicker, he needs to explain himself, he doesn't want to anger anyone. “That is alright” quietly but firmly Gellert interrupts Percival and he's distantly glad he's been prevented from spouting nonsense. He looks at Gellert, who's looking at him, a frown creasing between his brows. Before Percival really has a chance to worry about what the expression means, the other man states bluntly “you're hurt".

Denials form and are discarded swiftly, it hadn't been a question, Gellert knows that he is and he knows that Percival knows. Instead he stands silently,wondering what he should be saying, what he can say that isn't whinging. His conversation with Picquery had made him aware that his suffering in his marriage is nothing of concern for anyone, it's _expected_.

“How badly?” He's grateful for the short question, he can answer it and it takes the pressure off him, he doesn't have to try and grope his way through the labyrinth of social interaction, he's grateful Gellert is making this easier for him.

“They're broken” he responds promptly, being sure to keep his voice level, whining isn't tolerated. His father taught him that, his marriage reinforced it and tattling to Picquery ensured it's a lesson he won't soon be forgetting.  “At least,” he amends swiftly “ I think they are, I'm not certain though, they seem..” he's cut of by Gellert raising one hand in a stop motion. He flinches hard backwards, nearly topples over, but the hand- hands again now, at his elbows keep him upright.

“I won't hurt you” Gellert tells him, thankfully he doesn't look angry or seem reproachful at having to tell Percival this. He seems a little sad though, guilt simmers under his skin as he considers that he's to blames for that.

The guilt disappears under terror, when Gellert calmly pulls out his wand and points it at him. Standing rigidly, he gazes into the blue eyes of the other, wondering how he's going to be punished, he's startled when Gellerts blue eyes widen with surprise and the wand is lowered out of his peripheral vision. “I'm not going to hurt you,” Gellert repeats, more emphasis on the words this time “ I just wanted to run a diagnostic spell, I'm sorry,” he reaches out and runs a hand over Percival's cheek tilting his head so they are nearly nose to nose, “ I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that without asking, it was not my intention to make you nervous.”

Percival begins to stammer denials, that he's nervous, and that the other man had upset him, but he runs out of words pretty quickly. “May I" Gellert asks, gesturing with the hand that isn't holding the wand, Percival attempts to repress his flinch, he doesn't quite manage it. “I'm sorry” Gellert tells him again. Percival instantly feels bad that he's making Gellert feel the need to keep apologizing to him. He realises he's been asked a question and nods quickly. “Yes” he tells Gellert, glad of a way to prove himself, “ you can do the spell” he makes himself stand in place after he's said it. Gellert smiles at him, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and Percival smiles back at him basking in the glow of being _good._ He has to resolutely force himself to stand still before the wand that is pointed at him, it isn't until he hears the quill scratching on the conjured parchment that it dawns on him that he's closed his eyes. He prises them open and watches as the quill writes on and on. Gellert is watching the report too, the frown deepening, his brows drawing together.

A throat clears behind him, and brings Percival crashing back to reality, where he's been standing in a small store for heaven only knows how long without buying anything. He starts to stutter an explanation when Gellert steps in to talk to the man. In Italian, bastard Percival thinks with affection, watching how Gellert charms the man and smoothes ruffled feathers before managing to get rid of him.

While Gellert turns his attention to the now (finally) complete report, he turns back to the shelves of potions, he does need to buy these and get back. Hes struggling to decide which potions he needs more and whether anything in the store would work as lube, if he could make the sex easier then he would have less need for painkillers and healing potions. Trying to convince himself it's an investment he starts looking at all the different bottles, trying to guess from the Italian what they might mean.

“You've got rectal tearing” Gellert says softly, Percival starts nearly wiping out the shelf. He steps back before he can cause more damage than he can afford to pay for and allow his heart rate to come back down. He doesn't know what to say to such a statement and can't bring himself to look at Gellert, he continues to look steadily at the shelf of potions. The silence stretches then Gellert says “ you were correct, your ribs are broken as well, will you let me help you heal them?”

Unable to convince himself to tear his eyes away from the shelf, he asks through numb lips “can you teach me?” The other man makes a murmur of assent, before reaching out slowly and wrapping his hand around Percival's wrist again. “Come on, let us return to my current abode, I will be able to heal you there in greater comfort than will be possible here”

“I can't" Percival tells him quickly, “I need to buy some things” Gellert leans past him to look at the potions, his lip curls as he takes in what Percival has been looking at. “Don't buy those, darling, they are inferior quality.” He gently steers Percival further towards the window. “ Here these, their analgesic properties are much stronger and they will last longer. You can also take as many as you need without having to worry about addiction or overdose” As he speaks Gellert is gathering some of the bottles together, muttering under his breath as he does so.

Percival notices the prices and lays a restraining hand in the air fractionally above Gellerts sleeve, “I can't" he says, face heating with embarrassment, “I can't afford those” he admits before Gellert can ask. “You're part of an old family” Gellert says looking bewildered himself now. “Yes” Percival tries to think of a way to explain how his accounts have been confiscated until he has been deemed a non threat to the American wizarding community. “I married” he says lamely, he braces himself for disappointment. He's been let down before, Picquery's words of “ he's your husband” filter through his mind, he waits for the understanding to blossom on Gellerts face, he hopes that Gellert won't ask what he did to deserve this treatment. He doesn't understand well enough himself, but he knows he'll feel ashamed to have to admit just how badly he's managed to ruin things.

“ Bastard” Gellert mutters savagely, “is he the one who… hurt you” he asks voice and demeanour softening. Percival looks down at his shoes, they are shiny and smart, they still have plenty of wear left in them, he thinks absently, ignoring the question. Besides him out of the corner of his eye he sees Gellert nod as though he had answered it.

“ Well then, that changes things doesn't it” Gellert says decisively, “ I'll kill him for you, darling, then we can return home and I'll see to your injuries. We can stop by one of the restaurants on the way, hmmm…. You know, darling there is one not far from here that does a lovely ragu, I'm sure that you'll love it, it will go very well with a red wine I have..”

Percival feels the breath leave him in a sigh he wants to go with Gellert but the pull of loyalty towards his country and his people is still strong. “I can't” he whispers, before the courage to do what he thinks is right deserts him, “ we’re building a Trans Continental Alliance” he tells Gellert, right before his brain kicks in and tells his that he should not have said that to this man in particular.

Gellert raises one eyebrow, sardonically amused. “Is that so” he purrs, before becoming serious again, “ you cannot remain with an _individual”_ his voice drips with loathing “who would treat you in such a manner”

It's what Percival has needed to hear since his wedding night, since he was maneuvered into this marriage. “He's my husband?” He offers weakly, parroting the excuses given to him. “He's a rapist” Gellert counters firmly, then looks repentant at Percival's flinch.

“ If you don't feel able to come with me at the present,” Percival begins to protest that he can't abandon his work, his country but Gellert merely continues “ then you must allow me to at least help to keep you safe, let me get you these” he raises his hands, still clutching potions, “ Let me heal you now? Hmmm? You cannot go around like this, darling. Let me write to you. I would know that you are safe, if things get to bad or you do not reply then I will know.”

The thought of a friend who _cares_ , is enough to have Percival fighting down another wave of tears. He wants to go with Gellert to be safe, but he knows that such a thing is impossible, he reasons to himself that if he doesn't give Gellert any more information about the goings on of the Law enforcement teams (not that he has any new information he can give) it can't hurt for him to have this.

“Alright,” he says trying not to sound ungracious but the disappointment of not being able to leave with Gellert is leaving him raw, “ and you'll reach me the healing spells?”

“ Of course, darling, you always were more a warrior than a healer, but they are simple enough you will learn them easily, I'm very sure.”

With that Gellert goes back to gathering potions, while Percival hovers anxiously and continually tries to play down how many potions he's currently using. Gellert, well used to him, seems content to let him talk while doing exactly what he thinks is best. “Let us get you something to make this easier on you, it's bad enough that you are being forced” Gellert tuts angrily, “ but with injuries like this” he gestures at the report “ he cannot be taking the time you need”

Percival feels his face heat, he doesn't like to think about what happens between his husband and himself, shoving the memories deep down and trying hard to not even dream of them. Gellert notices and apologizes again “ it was not my intention to cause you distress darling!” Percival nods more concerns with the ever growing pile of bottles Gellert is now hovering alongside them, “I don't need..” he starts, but is gently shushed. Watching Gellert make his way up to the counter and make small talk with the shopkeeper, Percival has a moment of longing. He wishes this could be his life, safe and domestic. Shoving the thoughts away he shuffles after the unstoppable force that is Gellert, he takes all but two of the coins out of his pocket and places them on the counter so they can be added towards the bill. The shopkeeper looks at the coins then at Gellert, who looks as though he's going to refuse to accept them. However whatever it is that he sees on Percival's face causes him to pause then nod at the assistant.

The man behind the counter sweeps the money into his pocket, wraps up their goods and wishes them a good day? Percival assumes you must wish people a good day when they spend a small fortune in your store.

Then the two of them step out of the store into the dim morning light, it gives Percival a moment of disorientation as he tries to work out how long he's been in the store. It seems at once like no time at all and as though an age has passed. Glancing at his pocket watch shows him less than an hour has passed, he breathes a sigh of relief he still has plenty of time to learn the healing spells and get back. He needs to make dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so, I know this seems like a shitty rescue, but I just couldnt manage to write a convincing? Percival who was loyal enough to get yet wouldn't try to stick it out to the bitter end. Don't worry though it's all gonna work out.


	14. Chapter 14

As they walk along Gellert slides an arm around Percival’s waist, Percival pulls away, anxiously looking around him. He feels on edge just waiting to be caught, the memory of being punished just for a walk is still very fresh in his mind, he doesn't even want to think what would happen to him if he gets caught in the company with another man.

Gellert tuts at his agitation, and casts a privacy charm, raising one eyebrow at Percival with a half smile. Flushing, feeling stupid that casting the charm hadn't occurred to him Percival doesn't protest when the arm is wound around his waist again. Instead he leans into the warm solid body that is alongside his own, they don't talk much as they walk along, Percival concentrates on keeping up and not stumbling. Gellert seems to notice his struggles, his pace slows and he seems content to walk silently letting Percival get his thoughts in order.

It's not a long walk Percival allows Gellert to steer him through the streets, until they arrive at a small stone house. As they step inside Percival feels the wards wash over him, and then feels the heat of the house hit him, he hadn't realised how cold he'd been until the warmth of the house seeps into his bones. Gellert steps through into a study, there walls are lined with books, it smells comfortingly musty. A fire is burning in the hearth, there are documents on the desk, Percival glances at them, years in law enforcement making data acquisition second nature. Realising what he's doing, he makes himself stop, he can't leave and put MACUSA in danger or undermine the American Wizarding Communities politics, but he doesn't want to steal Gellerts secrets either.

He leans a hip on the desk and watches Gellert shifting through the books on the shelves, running a finger over the titles on the spines, he's muttering quietly to himself again while he pulls books of the shelves into his arms, sometimes flicking through a book a bit and sometimes shaking his head and returning the book back to the shelf.

Percival is basking in the heat of the fire, and the slowly relaxing more than he has in weeks, the tension is bleeding out of him despite his pain.

They stand together in harmonious near silence, only the crackling of the fire and Gellerts footsteps and quiet murmuring to be heard. He's so relaxed that be barely even twitches when the books are dumped into the desk next to him,he turns slightly to glance over their covers. They are all in English, there are a few medical texts and the rest appear to be mainly novels, the rest biographical works from wizards he's never heard of.

He glances at Gellert and raises an eyebrow, then nods his chin towards the books.

“Take them with you,” Gellert tells him, “the medic books will be useful and reading will keep you occupied.” Percival hums an agreement, inwardly delighted to have some reference books to help him and something to fill in the hours he spends by himself. “Now,” Gellert continues “ let us take a look at your injuries” Percival flushes as he's guided to take his coat, waistcoat and then finally his shirt off. As the final buttons undo and the shirts material slips from his shoulders, he feels awkward and finds himself unable to make eye contact, his heart has picked up again, revealing his nerves. He's relieved when Gellert doesn't draw attention to his uncharacteristic (for them) shyness, and instead opens one of the medical books. He shows Percival a page with a variety of bone healing spells, and then proceeds to demonstrate one on Percival's ribs. It's easier than the spell he had been using, and is quicker too, he breathes through the itchy prickle of healing, then tries the spell himself on his other broken ribs. Gellert glances back at the report the quill had written after the diagnostic spell, and then runs one finger lightly across his badly healed clavicle. Percival's abdominal muscles tick in response to his touch, and he struggles to keep from making his reaction obvious. Thankfully for once Gellert doesn't notice his distraction.

“ This will need to be broken and then reset” Gellert warns him soberly, his eyes sad. Percival nods, he's known this since he failed to heal it properly. “It will hurt” Gellert tells him, and he nods again. Gellert turns away to the desk drawers and rummages through the top one, when he doesn't find what he needs he open the next one down and searches through that instead. The crease between his eyebrows becomes more and more prominent as he searches, and Percival has to stop himself from reaching out to smooth away the frown with the pad of his thumb like he always had done. His mind drifts as he remembers doing just that, and Gellert taking his thumb into his mouth and sucking on the digit, tongue curling sinuously around it the flickering against the pad. He'd followed up later by sucking on other more sensitive parts of Percival's anatomy.

Gellerts exclamation of triumph jerks him from his pleasant thoughts, and he focuses again on what the other man is doing. In the bottom drawer of his desk Gellert has found a potion bottle, he's kneeling at Percival's feet while he offers him the phial. Hot on the heels of his remembrance heat floods through his body, settling pleasantly in his groin, but before he can embarrass himself, Gellert has placed one hand on the desk and levered himself into his feet, still holding the phial out towards Percival.

“Here” Percival looks at it for a second, his brain foggy. Gellert takes his confusion for reluctance and explains “It will numb you for a short period, while the bone is fixed” he offers the potion again, while nodding appeasingly at Percival to take it. Percival does, and waits for a few seconds, then alarmingly it feels as though he doesn't have an arm. He hadn't realised what a source of nagging pain it had been to him, until all feeling is completely removed. He stands trying not to squirm at the odd sensation of the hand he can no longer feel, touching his leg. Gellert swoops immediately into action, a spell snaps the bone with a surprisingly loud crack noise, like a branch being stepped on, then he uses the same spell as he had on Percival's ribs.

Bones healed, Gellert dog ears the page in the book and begins to leaf through the book again. “You've got bruises all over” he tells Percival, who smiles with faint amusement at the idea that he might have been unaware.

Percival allows Gellert to patch up his bruises starting with the ones on his face from his broken cheekbone and working his way down, he's delicate with Percival and asks before he acts. He makes a surprisingly good nurse, Percival thinks wryly. He refuses to take his pants off and let Gellert deal with any of his injuries there, it shames him that they even exist, it's almost beyond endurance that Gellert knows about them, he cannot even contemplate allowing Gellert to _see_ them.

He's grateful when Gellert leaves him with the book and goes to make coffee, giving Percival a few minutes of privacy to use some better healing charms for the injuries he has sustained.

When Gellert return with two steaming cups, and a chess set, he is encouraged to sit in one of the chairs near the fire and play. He enjoys the simple pleasure of uncomplicated company, just a hot beverage and a simple game, but the worry in the back of his mind about returning home grows.

Once he's been beaten, despite having had Gellert in check twice, the other wizard manages to scrape a victory, he refuses another drink and prepares himself to leave. He can tell Gellert isn't happy that he's leaving, but he doesn't try to change Percival's mind just mentions several times that Percival will be welcome “any time”. It warms him inwardly to know he finally has someone in his corner, as he shrinks the books and pulls on his coat. When they say goodbye Gellert pulls him in for a hug and holds him close, he can feel the other man's heart beating slow and steady. Pulling away he disparates back to the house before his courage deserts him, he knows what he must do, but he doesn't want to. When he arrives back at the house it looks as cold and gloomy as ever, he pushes open the front door relieved that it's still empty, but the absence of companionship and comfort is evident. Sighing he heads upstairs to hide his new books under the bed, and goes downstairs to make dinner. After a few minutes he nips back and grabs the first book he sees, he takes it into the kitchen with him and begins to read while the dinner cooks. It's the happiest he's been in this house, it occurs to him halfway through the first chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

It doesn't last of course, his husband returns home in a temper, and he is on the receiving end of his displeasure. He'd been smart enough to prep himself before the other man returned so when the evening inevitably turned to sex it was less of a physical trial then it ever had been during his marriage. It's a relief to be in less pain, but he finds that without the distraction of the pain he's all too aware of how unpleasant he finds this act with this man. Every groan from the other man sets his teeth on edge and his skin twitches away from his every touch, it takes all his willpower not to struggle away.

Once it's all over and he is able to return to his room he privately reflects that it had been quick and he's relatively unhurt for once. After showering thoroughly, he once again picks up his book and settles back against the headboard to read. The book details the importance of hierarchy in social situations, having worked in law enforcement Percival is well used to the concept, he's interested to learn that many animals have similar social structures and the author begins to allude to the notion that having such structures in place is necessary for the health and well being of all living creatures. He finishes the text in the early hours and dimming the lights curls up to meditate on the knowledge he's just acquired.

He's dreaming of elephants when the alarm goes, he rolls out of bed, feeling fit and strong for the first time in days. He goes through his morning routine, waves his husband off grateful to see the back of him for the day. Then he heads to the living room to read, he's made a decent headway into a novel about aliens taking over a planet and ravaging it so the natural population can no longer survive. It's a creepy story, he's huddling into himself enjoying the scare when a tap on the window sends his heart racing into overdrive. His MACUSA instincts come roaring to the fore, and he ducks behind the sofa out of sight with his wand drawn before he can even begin to truly process what's happening. Peaking out he's relieved there is no around to see his panic, when he sees an owl on the window sill. He fancies it's got an expression on its feathery face that suggests it feels delighted at having given a human a scare. He scowls at it then gets to his feet and let's it in. The bird hops through the window and settles on his shoulder, where it begins preening at his hair.

Percival removes the letter from the owl's leg, and reaches up to tickle the bird's chest. The owl gives him a surprisingly friendly hoot and a last rustle of its beak through his hair before it launches itself of his shoulder and out of the window. Sneezing from the owls primary feathers tickling his face, he goes to grab a hanky, when he returns the letter is still sitting on the inside of the window sill. Opening it he sees Gellerts familiar scrawl, it's a brief note telling him that Gellert hopes he is well and inviting him to play a game. Puzzled he turns the page over to see a chess board drawn on the other side. When the drawings of the chess pieces are tapped they move. To his surprise the chess pieces on the side opposite to the one he touches all glow dark blue for a moment then the centre pawn moves out two squares. Percival smiles takes a seat near the fire and settles down to beat Gellert at a game of chess.

The day passes much more quickly with the modicum of company, and he manages to win as many games as he loses.

During dinner he keeps his eyes glued on his plate and strives to seem invisible. The other man is in a foul mood, halfway through the meal he throws the plate at the wall besides Percival's head without any warning or build up. Percival is too shocked to react, he watches the remnants of the meal sliding slowly down the wall to mingle with the smashed china on the floor, he braces himself for pain though.

Afterwards jaw aching, his back a mess of bruises, blood in his urine, he uses Gellerts books to heal himself, then rereads the letter asking after him. He turns it over and touches the chessboard it glows navy again and a knight moves into battle, exhausted he reaches out and touches the page again but doesn't try to play. It comforts him to know that Gellert is looking out for him, it's a nice thought to sleep on as he casts a warming charm on the bed and let's the heat unknot his tense muscles. He puts the page next to his pillow, it's the last thing he sees as he drifts off.


	16. Chapter 16

The week passes in much the same manner, lows in the presence of his husband but now balanced or at least kept more in check by the highs of letters and other communication with Gellert. He receives little gifts with every letter, a box of little pastries or some chocolate, he flushes at little at the notion that Gellert is showering him with little gifts like he's a lady being courted but beneath the slight burn of indignation he's charmed and delighted.

On Friday when his letter arrives at around noon and the owl, whom he's named Pliny the Feathery, settles on the wooden curtain rod watching him out of orange eyes, before yawing and settling in for a sleep. He opens his letter to read the missive from Gellert, like all the man's letters they enquire after his health, make subtle, for Gellert anyway, threats towards his husband and then pass on the general goings on of the world. He reads the news eagerly, starved for human interaction, then pens a quick response, reminding Gellert sadly that due to his husband being home over the weekend it will not be safe for him to receive any letters.

Then he looks to see what trinket he has been provided with today, it's a book of Greek philosophy on the inside cover Gellert has penned a brief note telling him he's missed. Percival absolutely does not hug the book to chest and luxuriate in the feeling of being cared for. Instead he manfully takes his book to his room and hides it under the bed with the rest, and then saves his letter from Gellert in the bedside drawer. He likes to look at them in the evenings, after… Percival shudders and draws his thoughts away from the horrors of the evenings at his husband's hands and heads downstairs to play a quick game with Gellert and coax Pliny onto his lap to be petted.

The calm peace of these encounters help to bolster his courage while he waits for him husband's return, and dispels his loneliness a little. He has to admit to himself that he is lonely, he's unused to such a sedentary life and one without the comings and goings of others, he gone from his family home, to boarding school, to being a soldier, to a career in Magical Security. He's always been surrounded by others, the isolation hurts nearly as much as anything else that his husband does to him.

He always knows that he has to savour his isolation though as he will be longing for it when his husband is home, pacing through the house angry and so easily dissatisfied. Percival wishes for the millionth time he could work out what makes the man angry he seems to go from quiet seething anger to furious violence with no provocation that Percival can identify.

He's reluctantly coming to the conclusion that it's him, he's not sure what or why but he must be doing something to provoke the other man. He's glad in a way that he only contact with Gellert is through letters, chess and one brief heart stoppingly scary fire call, the less he has to do with the other man the less likely he is to anger him.

And the longer he'll be able to keep his friend? Ex lover?

Pushing aside the chilling thought of what his life will be like when Gellert grows sick of him and concentrating on the here and now of his steady constant (albeit physically distant) presence in his life, he concentrates on beating Gellert at chess.

When Pliny deigns to accept his letter, Percival gives the feathery beast one last cuddle. Pliny permits him with the air of a spoiled prince accepting praise as his due, then nibbles at his finger, beak pressing gently on either side of Percival's finger, before taking to the sky.

Percival shuts the window and casts a warming charm on the room and a drying charm on the area around the window. It's raining again, a fine grey drizzle that seems to manage to get everything far wetter than should be possible considering how insubstantial the misty rain appears.

Then with a sigh he tucks his game into the inside pocket of his jacket ,then undoing his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves he goes to make the dinner. He uses another of the books Gellert had acquired for him to make a meal he can't even pronounce, he knows it'll be delicious though everything else from the book has been. Hes carefully running his finger along the lines which detail a spell in making a bavarois, when he hears the floo go. Steeling himself, he squares his shoulders and goes out to face his husband. The man looks tired, Percival thinks with a stirring of glee, but the usual frown of bad temper is stamped heavily into his forehead. Biting back a sigh Percival nods politely to him, but doesn't dare say anything, it's an _amusing_ game they play now. Some days his husband wants him to play at being a dutiful husband and ask him all about his day, others the sounds of Percival's voice seems to enrage him. He can't win the game, only delay the inevitable as even if he guesses correctly as to whether the other man will prefer silence or his chatter, he will inevitably fail to live up to expectations at some point during the evening. Sourly he think his husband likes to find fault with him, though the thought does cause him a pang of guilt, if he could only learn the rules and stick to them, then things would be better. The memory of Picquery reminding him that he's married rises up in his mind again, and he steps forward to receive his husband's coat silently. Putting them away, he's relieved to slip back into the sanctuary of the kitchen and continue with the meal making, allowing his husband to nurse his own ill temper alone. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who's still following and enjoying this! I love hearing that there are people who like my work, this chapter is a little slow I'm trying to wrap something up and move the story on while deciding how far to write the Gellert/Perival comfort. Also sorry about the wait I've been sick this past week and my brain is mush. So if the spelling/ grammar is worse than normal, that is my excuse and I'm sticking with it.


	17. Chapter 17

He's relieved when his husband takes his bad temper out with him, he'd forgotten how much the man like to drink at the weekends.

Relieved at having escaped so lightly, Percival spends the remaining hours of the day cleaning and tidying up the house before retiring upstairs to bed. He sits up and rereads Gellerts letters then, slips them back into the drawer beside his bed, then he grabs his book of Greek philosophy and begins to read.

He awakens the next morning, with the spine of the book jabbing him hard in the armpit, where he's fallen asleep and half rolled over onto it during the night. Percival knows that there is no point in getting up immediately as his other half will be in a drunken stupor until the middle of the afternoon at the earliest. Instead he finishes his book, then showers slowly amusing himself drawing stick men images of husband in all kinds of humiliating situations on the steamy glass, with a finger.

Climbing from the shower as his skin prunes, he goes to shave in front of the mirror. Every time he sees his reflection he's surprised by how little he looks now, months of interrogation and inaction had left him with little muscle mass.

Here he rarely eats and almost never finishes a meal before he's dragged off to be bent over and abused. Percival sets down his wand on the counter and leans closer to the mirror observing himself closely, his cheek and jaw bones jut. Huge hollows where his cheeks should be, his eyes look massive in his face, and his collar bone protrudes from his skin. It's no small wonder that he never manages to fight his husband off the other man weighs at least 200 pounds, tall and muscular.

Sighing he withdraws, picks up his wand and begins using charms to remove the stubble from his face. He makes a conscious effort to eat during the day, it helps to fill in the time a little and now he's truly seen himself he knows he needs the nourishment, if he was still at MACUSA he'd have been suspended from active duty until he was fitter.

He's still bored though as he flits from room to room unable to settle, he misses Pliny, with his smug superior attitude. He wants to see if Gellert wants to play chess but doesn't want to bother the other man too often. The day drags on and on, he ends up in the kitchen back in his favourite hidey hole, looking at the cookery book Gellert sent him, pouring over the pictures of all the different kinds of food and imagining himself making these meals for someone who wanted to sit and eat them with him, companionably, safely.

Eventually he hears the other man in the house begin to get up, and he starts the spells to make some dinner and leaves them going. He edges out of the kitchen and lingers in the doorway of the dining room, watching.

He smiles to himself, when he sees his husband staggering down the stairs forgetting how many there are and expecting another step even once he's reached the hall floor, his whole body lurches and due to his, no doubt raging, hangover he nearly falls to floor.

Percival makes no effort to reach out and steady him, instead slipping back into the dining room placing today's paper onto the table in his husband's spot and heading back into the sanctuary of the kitchen.

When the meal is prepared he takes it out and waits for his husband to acknowledge him, by moving the paper enough to allow him to place the meal on the table in front of him. It's another of the little games his husband loves to play with him, he's made Percival stand there clutching the plates for 20 minutes before allowing him to place the meal down

. Naturally he'd then hexed Percival savagely because his meal was cold. His attempts to shift the paper to put the meal down had gone down even more badly, so he stands tensely waiting, hoping the other man isn't in the mood to find cause to punish him.

After a few long minutes while he stands, the anxiety within him ratcheting higher with every passing second, trying to reconcile himself with getting a beating and no dinner, the other man sits back and watches over the paper as his meal is placed before him.

Scuttling back to his spot, Perival sits and watches out of the corner of his eye as his husband takes his first bite, he tenses watching the other man chewing consideringly. It's only when he swallows and takes a second bite of his dinner that Percival breathes again, not yet he thinks to himself. He's not going to be punished just yet.

Or possibly at all today he allows as the other man finishes his meal, and leaves the room without a word or a backward glance. Despite his relief at the lack of violence Percival wishes that he wasn't ignored unless it's to cause him pain.

Sighing again he goes into the kitchen to tidy and to draw up a list of the things they need, so he can owl the relevant stores for deliveries. It's dull work but he'd done inventories back at MACUSA so it feels familiar, although it pulls his homesickness up to the front of his mind.

Miserably certain that he'll never go home again, he finishes his task waits until he hears the floo go announcing the other man's departure. Then he heads upstairs to bed.


	18. Chapter 18

He's jolted out of sleep, when a body comes down over his. His brain fogged with sleep struggles to make sense of the situation, for a second he thinks he's back with Gellert, who was like an octopus while sleeping. Anyone sleeping in the vicinity of Gellert Grindelwald wakes to find him wrapped around them, removing one limb to escape seems to allow Gellert to produce more arms and legs from nowhere and wrap himself even more firmly around his partner.

  
But the smell of the other body is wrong, and his brain is screaming danger even before he can really evaluate what is happening. “Monster” his inner five year old tell him, and he struggles under the dead weight.

  
It's the smell of alcohol that begins to allow him to make sense of the situation.

  
Reality hits him with a hammer blow, his husband is in bed with him. Or on the bed. He can feel his sheets over his body being pulled tight and rumpling between their writhing bodies as they battle.

  
Percival stills for a second, disorientation making movement impossible. He stares hard in the darkness trying to figure out where he is. He wouldn't have gone to sleep in his husband's bed, he always escapes from there as soon as he possibly can, before his husband decides to use his body again.

  
Then realisation crashes through him, the knowledge that his husband is in his room, his sanctuary the only safe place he has in this horror house, sears through his chest. Every single neurone he has lights up in protest at having this man here, in his bed.

  
He fights, in a move which clearly startles his husband, he smashes his forehead into the other man. He grabs at his fingers and yanks them backwards while biting at any flesh that is within reach.

  
The sudden explosion of violence catches his husband of guard and Percival is able to roll the other man off one side of the bed, while he rolls off the other and bolts in the direction of the door.  
He bangs into the wall and runs his hands over it until he finds the door frame. He can hear his husband cursing and staggering to his feet behind him, frantically he begins to sweep his hands over the door for the doorknob. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to him in this room, he knows it's pointless and stupid to feel like this, but he doesn't want to be hurt here. He wants his room to remain his safe space where he can go to and not have the memories of what has happened within the four walls of the room assault him every time he so much as crosses a threshold.

  
He can't find the doorknob, muttering a hasty Lumos, hating himself for not having done it sooner he searches. The footsteps are coming closer.

  
He stares at the door unbelievingly, the doorknob has vanished, he can't work out where or why his whole body pauses while his brain reboots under the weight of his bewilderment.

  
A disturbance in the air behind him, galvanises him into action, terror swooping through him. His legs are shaking, his whole body flinches forwards as though he can press through the door, he claws at the edge of the door trying to prise it from the door frame. He needs to get out, he has to.

  
When he's grabbed he shrieks in his terror, the noise slipping free without his consent. His whole body gets shoved violently forward into the door, and his hands skate over it,clawing again at the edges as he attempts to get away from the monster behind him.

  
Snapping a wandless unlocking spell, in the hopes that without the catch holding the door shut, he will be able to tear it open and escape. He'll hide, or take his licks on the landing if he has too, but he's not being raped here.

Not in his room. Not in his pajamas, not in his bed. He's not, he's not. He just won't,he can't.

  
The spell bounces off, dispersing in a wave of bronze, and he realises that the missing doorknob isn't a spell. Instead it's the house wards. They are reacting to their master and his desires, trapping him here. A thin scream of terror leaves him at the crushing realisation, the body at his back grabs a hold of his pajama shirt and tugs. The collar catches his throat and he coughs.

  
The next few minutes are lost to him in the haze of adrenaline and pain of the fight. His husband uses all his advantages, magic, his height and weight against Percival, and drunk he seems immune to the pain of Percival's punches, kicks, the marks left by his teeth.

  
A blow catches Percival in the jaw and he falls hitting his head on the dresser on the way down. His vision tunnels and he can't make himself move.

  
Blinking sluggishly, he can't offer even a token resistance as he's grabbed and thrown over a shoulder.

  
He's dropped onto his bed, his body bouncing on the mattress. Then another body comes back down on top of his, one hand grabs both his wrists and pulls them over his head. Fighting not to pass out, Percival presses his legs together as tightly as he can. He tugs at the hand that has his wrists, but the movement is weak.

  
His heart is fluttering in his panic, and he isn't breathing properly. He's feeling sick. His dinner is churning in him, creeping up his throat.

  
A knee begins to pressure at the seam of his clenched thighs.

  
“No” he gasps. His voice is funny and his mouth hurts. He's ignored anyway as the knee begins to drill downwards trying to slip between his thighs.

  
“No, no, no” he chants it like a prayer, twisting his wrists and arching his spine trying to gain enough leverage to slip his hands free.

  
Hes punched in the jaw again and he feels the bone move, the pain of it ricocheting through his head, spiraling mercilessly through his brain.

  
He lets out an undignified squawk of misery, as his jaw breaks, trying to remember through the haze of agony that he absolutely cannot relax his legs.

  
It doesn't matter though, the knee digs between the seam of his clamped thighs despite his efforts, a sob breaks free. Tears mist over his vision, he knows he's failed.

  
The other knee digs in behind the first, he squirms and screams trying to prevent it. As soon as he's got both knees in between Percival's thighs, his husband uses his legs to force Percival to spread his.

  
Shaking, and panting, restrained by the hand holding his wrists he panics as he feels his legs being cracked apart.

  
Then his husband sinks down into the gap, and when Percival attempts to close his legs all he does is bracket the other man's hips. He tries to work his feet under his husband to wriggle his legs closed again. He's not flexible enough, he doesn't have the leverage he's trapped under the heavier body unable to get out.

  
Tears are crawling down his face, running into his ears and his hair, his chest is heaving with sobs of fright and misery.

  
His husband rocks their clothed hips together, and Percival let's out a garbled noise of agonized protest. He's slapped his face rocked to the side, broken bones of his jaw grating audibly. With his face turned to the side he buries it in the side of his restrained arm and sobs.

  
He weeps for his lost innocence, the loss of his last remaining safe space. He knows now, deep down inside himself where he is brave enough to see the truth that there is nowhere now that he can go here where the other man won't get him if he wants to.

  
The push of the other man's hips into his continues, and Percival can't stop himself from trying to edge backwards into the mattress and pull himself upwards compressing his spine to pull himself away from the hated intrusive touches.

  
His husband digs his hand between them, to stroke himself. He doesn't seem to be getting hard. Percival feels a glimmer of hope that maybe he will just go and sleep off his drink.

  
A slurred word is mumbled into the half light between them, Percival tries to make sense of it.

  
The next push of hips into his, sends him jolting backwards and away as best as he is able, hope smothered under his jolt of suddenly heightened alarm.

  
The other man is hard. “How?" Percival blurts anguished. He goes unanswered. Hips grind increasingly desperately into his and he shudders, sickness welling up, his struggles never abating.

  
The hand between them starts grappling at his waistband, he squirms, digs his heels into the mattress and makes a huge effort to flip the other man off him. Laughter greets his efforts and he flushes with shame, while dread skitters over his skin.

  
He digs his face harder into his arm, trying to bury beneath himself as his pajama trousers are yanked down.

  
Skin bushes against his now bare skin, he shudders with revulsion. Fingers press behind his balls, searching. He keens in misery and distress, attempting again to close his legs, but being prevented by the monster lodged between them.

  
He arches his back, pushing his hole as far way from those questing fingers as he can. The fingers stop, then withdraw. Before he can sigh with relief, they close around his throat, squeezing harshly.

 

He gasps turning his face upwards away from his arm, instinctively seeking oxygen. His mouth drops open, he struggles desperately. Percival fights to draw breath, as his vision begins to spark out, black spots appearing.

  
He feels an erection being to pressure against him, and he clenches to keep it out. He digs his nails into his hands, and fights to breathe but he can feel himself going limp, the black haze completely across his vision. He can't see but he can feel the erection breach him and sink into him. He tries to scream.

  
The fingers loosen but don't let go, and he draws a breath, it's beautiful. The oxygen dizzying in his lungs his head clears after a few breaths, and his vision returns.

  
Percival lies limp, utterly destroyed by the past few minutes. His hands are numb under their restraining hold, he's spread out under this man, in his own bed.  
He's never hated any one as fiercely as he hates himself right now, for his pathetic weakness.

  
His husband drives into him hard, holding him down at his wrists and throat. Tears seep out from under his clenched lids. Misery overwhelms him. The only thought in his brain is that he'll never be safe again, he chokes on a sob. A gurgle of utter desolation.

  
It takes forever, pain distorting the passage of time, his anguish relentless. He hadn't thought to prepare himself before going to bed, stupidly, and so every dry drag of the cock within sends pain up his spine. His bowels are cramping, it feels like he's desperate for the toilet.

  
He's descended into bitter weeping by the time it finally ends, grief and heartbreak oozing out of every pore. He feels like he's one open wound with nothing left to hold himself together.

  
His husband pulls out, and a flood of spend slips free. Percival closes his eyes, sickness rising knowing that it's on his sheets. It's embedding itself in the place where he sleeps, staining. He knows no amount of cleaning will make him feel clean and safe here again.

  
His hands are released, pins and needles begin at once in his fingers as full circulation is restored. The fingers slip free of his throat, as soon as the other man moves from between his legs he pulls up his trousers with shaking hands.

He ties the drawstring, as though the knot will be enough to keep him safe from further predation then sits up pressing his legs together protectively, hands fluttering uselessly, adrenaline pumping through him.

  
He glances at the door, it's still shut and there is no way out. He despairs silently, movement catches his gaze and he turns. His husband is sprawled on his back in Percival's bed, his hand is wrapped around his still hard cock and he's stroking.

  
Bile rises and he retches over the side of the bed onto the carpet. Strings of saliva stretching downwards as he heaves.

  
He's heard about those kind of charms, everybody has. Many jokes are made about charms that cause erections for hours, and about how long they should last before one should seek the attention of a medi witch.

  
Nothing has ever in his life seemed less funny to him, than being indirectly on the receiving end of one of those charms.


	19. Chapter 19

For a long moment, he sits, dread the only thing he knows, every other part of himself has paled to insignificance. He doesn't dare move and draw attention to himself, but gradually, oh so gradually it begins to filter through his numb brain that if he remains where he is he will draw attention through his mere proximity.

  
Slowly, very, very slowly, while the other man dozily touches himself, he slides off the bed. Casting a silencing charm, glances around for somewhere to hide, dismissing the bathroom and under the bed as viable options.

He slides into his closet, it's large and built into the wall, he slides his back up against the furthest corner and pulls his knees up to his chest. He curves his spine, so that he can hide his face in his knees, his hands twisting together in front of his shins. He's still crying, he tries hard to stop, but as soon as his face is dry, the misery will claw at him and his eyes will blur again.

  
He's never felt so ashamed in his life, he's weeping like a frightened child while hiding from monsters in his closet, humiliation creeping over him. He's a man grown yet he's hiding. Dread, and fear curl in his belly, nausea and anxiety combining adding to his ordeal.

  
His pajama trousers are sticking to him, damply clinging around his thighs and buttocks. The knowledge of what is causing that particular discomfort has him almost heaving again, and only increases his sense of miserable shame.

  
Then he hears the bed creak, and he freezes. His heart rate kicks into overdrive, and sweat begins to form, he hopes with every fiber of his being that the other man leaves. That he just returns to his own room, and Percival can gather the shattered fragments of his life around him and attempt to find the strength of will to begin to rebuild from the mess.

  
There is a long drawn out moment where nothing happens, his whole body cinches tighter and tighter he struggles to breathe. His breath labours and he can hear little whimpers of terror in his own exhales.

  
Then there is a loud crash in the bathroom, he jumps violently, smacking his head on the wall behind him with a crack that echoes through his skull. He hides in his knees, he's shaking again, tears soaking into the material. His hands clenched into each other so hard he can feel his own blood under his fingers.

  
He hears something smash then more loud bangs, heavy footsteps then shockingly nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the rapid beating of his heart. Percival prays to a god he doesn't believe in for salvation, for mercy.

  
Instead he hears a crash, as the closet door is flung open hard enough to crash into the wall behind it.

  
He stills, remains utterly motionless, doesn't even breathe. Hoping against hope that he won't be spotted,he is unsurprised by the hands that grab his upper arms.

He's pulled up and out, back into the dim light of the bedroom. He still can't make himself breathe, his chest is jerking and hitching but he's not able to draw a breath, vision tunneling as he's pulled out to face his due.

  
Instantly his wrists are bound, black cord wrapping around his wrists tightly, cutting into his flesh, blood begins to run down over the palms of his hands and drip off the ends of his fingers. Blood stains the front of his pyjama trousers and droplets hit the tops of his feet.

  
A blow lands solidly behind his knees and he crumples forward, catching himself on his painfully bound hands with a cry.

  
He begins to fight up to his feet when a boot settles on the back of his neck. He goes still instantly, flattening to the floor and twisting his head to the side so his cheek rests on the floor, reducing the pressure on his neck.

  
A muttered spell and his shirt slides up under his armpits the material bunching around the tops of his shoulder blades, confused he tries to twist his head around far enough to see what's happening. The boot on his neck presses harder, threatening so he goes completely still, accepting his vulnerability. There is a pause a soft rustling noise, then a sharper sound before he's struck across the width of his back.

Something cold catches on his skin, he feels it tear. For a few moments all he feels is the dull impact, the breath forced from him under the blow, then the pain lights up his brain and he bites his lip to prevent himself from shaming himself further by screaming, wailing out his pain like a pathetic child.

  
The blows don't stop or pause, steadily they are laid out haphazardly all along his back, occasionally one will fall badly and he'll be caught on his ass, his hips or across his thighs. He is still wearing his trousers but they do nothing to soften the impact.

  
He's split his lip, bitten down too hard in his attempts to stifle his cries, and his mouth is full of the taste of iron.

  
Eventually when he can't keep bite back the sobs any longer, and moans of distress are slipping free at every blow, he hears something clatter to the floor near his head. He opens his eyes, that he hadn't even realised he'd shut them, and sees a belt on the floor the buckle is red with blood.

  
He lies on his belly with his hands bound under him his shoulders screaming in protest at the position. He is dragged upwards by his hair, and he blinks slowly at his husband. Blood is crawling down over his ribs and soaking into his trousers, he feels distant, his head is spinning.

  
He's dumped across his mattress, his face pressed into the blankets, his feet slipping on the floor as he tries feebly to get up. His trousers are pulled down again, not far they gather around his thighs, pressing into a welt that has been inflicted. It hurts.

  
So too does the sex, he had known it would happen, he reflects as he clutches the sheets as best he can with his bound hands and attempts to find the grip to keep his feet on the floor and support him, rather than slipping and sliding.

  
He's crying again so overwhelmed by pain, misery and fright that he doesn't know which emotion is prompting his tears this time. This rape drags on even longer than the first, but when it's over he's shoved off the bed back onto the floor.

  
He lies in a heap, grateful, pathetic in his gratitude as the bonds around his wrists dissolve and leave his hands white with blood loss. They burn with pain as they come back to life, the newest source of physical anguish something he fights to ignore.

  
Out of the corner of his eye he see something glinting, turning his head he squints trying to work out what it is.

  
A shadow falls over him, and he wilts in resignation. As he's tugged upwards for the second time, the will to resist desserts him completely. He knows that he has nothing left to fight for no part of himself left to defend, he seeks only now to appease his tormentor and hope for mercy. He knows deep down that he is unlikely to be shown any.


	20. Chapter 20

Kneeling his head is forced immediately into the crotch of the man in front of him. The erection in face is purple and angry looking. He winces, it looks painful. He nearly sympathises, before recollection catches up with his brain and he pushes all thoughts away. He kneels, knees pressed into the floor, bare feet cold, the erection brushes against his face, and he reluctantly opens his mouth and closes his eyes tight. He has learned that looking up at his husband while he has to do this gives him nightmares.

  
Each thrust is far too far down his throat, and he chokes and coughs his way through the whole process, fighting his gag reflex every single second of his ordeal. He has no desire to find out what kind of awful punishment would befall him for vomiting into his husband's lap. He keeps his eyes closed, tries his best to keep the slow seep of tears down his cheeks to the absolute minimum, ignores the brush of the cotton shirt against the fresh wounds on his back, and endures.

  
With a broken jaw, it's a nightmare, just one unending cycle of suffering, he's given up hoping and praying for mercy, just kneels utterly despondent and tries to survive just a little longer.

  
When his orgasm hits, his husband withdraws and spills over his face, and then rubs his cock across the bridge of Percival's nose and up into his hairline. His grimace gets him a slap, but then he's once again ignored.

  
He sits back on his heels, before his stupidly heavy, dizzy head drags him downwards, backwards. He topples over onto his back, and fire races through him, he hears his own breathy whine of distress, he sounds like a beaten dog yet despite the terrible pain it takes him long minutes to struggle over.

  
He lies on his side, feeling the come drying on his face, it itches.

  
His husband is pacing the room,poking at things and looking around, distantly he feels violated, and he snorts inwardly at his own wayward emotions, fretting over his sock drawer when he's just been raped.

  
He stops rolling his eyes at himself, when his husband finds and without even pausing for a millisecond eviscerates his stash of books that he'd hidden under his bed.

  
Then he lies hollow, unable to comprehend this latest loss, the true scale of the disaster that has been the last few hours.

  
He begins to shake when the other man walks back over towards him, he tries to stop because he knows it angers the other but his stupid treacherous body refuses to cooperate, he hates it, his stupid body that bring him nothing but trouble.

  
His hands are bound behind him this time his knuckles pressing into his welted back send fresh waves of pain through him. He's wrestled onto the bed, grazing his shin across the wooden slats that the mattress rests on as he's maneuvered past them.

  
His hips are dragged upwards and without his hands to support himself, he has to tip his head to the side and try to hold himself up with his shoulder. From this angle he can see his own cock, he's soft and small between his legs, horror and pain eliminating any physiological response from his body.

  
As his body is cruelly ridden, thighs pressing hard into the wounds on the back of his legs, fingers digging into his bruised welted hips, he stares at the wall. He wonders why the other bothered to bind him, he needn't have bothered. Percival knows he's been worn thin by months of stress and stretched beyond endurance over the course of the night.

His husband could have left him completely unbound, Percival knows that he no longer has the strength to struggle.

  
His whole body is a testament to the depth of pain that a human body can be made to suffer. He thinks bitterly that people think that it's people like Gellert who are evil, but he's come to understand its politicians and lawmakers who blithely send others off to suffer on their behalves. Humans they are so good at inflicting pain.

  
When the other man, finally comes he softens a little and Percival sheds more tears of sheer relief. Even the other man slumping down over his injured back doesn't fracture the sollace the knowledge brings him.

  
They lie together on Percival's bed in a heap of limbs, the smell of blood and sex hanging thick and sharp in the air. Percival closes his eyes tries to shift so he can breathe more easily and let's his consciousness slip, taking his agony and humiliation with it.


	21. Chapter 21

He doesn't know how long he's been unconscious for when he's slapped awake, a hand coming down painfully on the torn, raw flesh of his back.

  
Opening eyes that feel gritty, a headache that would drive a saint to suicide clawing at the inside of his temples and with a mouth that feels like the inside of one of the MACUSA gym lockers, his stomach plummets when he sees his husband.

  
He's rolled onto his back, knuckles of his still bound hands digging hard into his spine, and he can't prevent himself from vocalising his distress. His husband swings a leg over his shoulders and crouches over his upper chest. His husband is half hard and he moves to begin dragging his cock up and down the side of Percival's face. He taps hard at Percival's cheek jostling his jaw as he does snapping “open”.

  
Obediently Percival does and at once his mouth is filled. Lips stretch around the intruder, he flattens his tongue as far away from it as he can. Servicing his husband is never about his technique, he's a hole to be used he makes sure he never forgets how little his husband thinks of him. Despite how much he hates both himself and his husband, he still feels a pang of dismay at how much the man hates him.

  
He hates having to orally service another man from this angle he decides, it's murder on his neck and the angle of his throat means that the cock keeps hitting the back of his throat and his hard palate. It hurts and causes him to gag, which causes his body to convulse, which tears at the wounds on his back and puts tremendous pressure on his shoulders and arms. Which are protesting loudly at having been tied behind him for so long.

  
His relief is indescribable when after having swallowed the others spend, he's finally left alone, the sound of the door catch clicking shut and the pad of retreating footsteps, so beautiful to him he wants to be able to listen to those sounds forever.

  
He knows he should get up, he absolutely needs to see to his wounds. Instead he rolls into the most comfortable position he can find, ignoring the mess of blood, and other fluids smeared across his bedding, he closes his eyes and hopes he never has to wake up.


	22. Chapter 22

He's not even granted the mercy of death he realises later, as he opens his eyes. It must be late morning or early afternoon as it's quite light in the room, or as light as it ever gets under these gray winter skies.

  
His whole body is a cacophony of agony. It takes him long minutes, with several intervals where he must pause and simply breathe through the overwhelming torment, to get to his feet.

  
He staggers in the direction of the bathroom, he's wearing a skin tight suit of pain, and every step seems to tear at the wounds of his back and legs.

  
He moves achingly slowly in the direction of the bathroom, unable to keep from vocalising his pain as the wounds inside him are jostled from his movement.

  
When he reaches the bathroom it's all he can do to remain on his feet. It's in ruins.

  
Everything is broken, there is glass everywhere.

  
He stares at it, too wrung out to even attempt an emotional response.

  
Gradually it filters into his awareness that every phial of painkilling and healing potion are now gone.

  
His road to recovery has been pulled from under his feet. He sinks down the side of the bathroom door jam, rests his head against the wood. The cold of the floor seeps through his trousers and into his flesh, matching the coldness that has taken over his mind, his soul. He imagines the coldness growing, until he freezes over entirely and nothing will be able to crack through the ice to cause him harm. It's a nice thought. Comforting.

  
Distantly he is aware that his apathy should alarm him, but he's too tired to care.

  
He rests, then slowly begins the task of getting his hands free. It takes him a long, long time. He doesn't have the concentration, he keeps going blank and simply stating off into space rather than focusing on the spell he needs to free himself.

  
It's begun to grow dim, the light fading before he finally manages the simple spell to release his bonds. It's taken far longer than should ever be acceptable, he should be angry with himself for such a humiliating failure, he would have been at one point too. Now though he simply accepts it as further evidence of his own inadequacy.

  
Behind him his door swings open, bounces of the wall and near closes again, he doesn't even have the energy to flinch. It takes what feels like all his remaining strength to lift his head and roll it in the direction of the landing.

  
His husband stands in his doorway, he looks down at the pathetic huddle that Percival's body makes propped up and broken, then he rolls his eyes, snorts and leaves.

  
Percival hears the floo flare and knows he's been left alone. He allows his body to sink a little lower towards to floor, brings his hands around so they can rest in his lap, closes his eyes and hopes for nothingness.


	23. Chapter 23

He passes the day in a haze of strange half dreams, half memories. Dozing and jerking awake, to tears on his face and his own moans of pain and terror loud in his ears. When he is awake he curls into himself for warm, moving hurts so he remains still, allowing the fuzziness of shock to dull his pain and shield his mind.

  
He only realises that Monday has arrived when he gets kicked awake with an order for breakfast. His agonized moan and inability to stand soon mean the other leaves him, a noise of disgust the only response to his injuries.

  
Later a noise at the window, draws his from the cusp of sleep and he rolls his head in the direction. Pliny is at his bedroom window, beak rapping angrily at the glass demanding entrance. Percival doesn't think he has the strength or the will to get up and let the bird in, but he watches it happy to have been able to see Pliny again, even if he thinks it might be the last time.

  
He watches the owl getting more and more distressed, feeling guilty for being the cause but unable to prevent it's misery, he can't even prevent his own.

  
Eventually Pliny leaves, he doesn't return.

Percival closes his eyes again and let's consciousness drift easily away from him.

  
He sleeps on and off all night. He wakes cold and stiff, his whole body awash with agony, shaking with his pain whenever he drifts closer to the waking world.

  
In the morning the sound of the floo wakes him, he's lying now, curled on his side hip digging painfully into the wooden floor boards.

  
He's desperately thirsty, throat parched and his lips dry and cracked, bleeding sluggishly at the corners. He rocks onto his knees, his attempts to climb to his feet lead to him staggering and falling painfully back to his knees. He crawls over to his wand and gets himself a glass of water, forcing himself to drink more slowly than he'd like rather than risk making himself sick.

  
Leaning against the bed, he lets his head drop backwards onto the mattress, and probes at his jaw with his fingertips. Bracing himself for worsening pain, he goes through the spells to fix the injury, the itchy prickly discomfort of healing brings reflexive tears to his eyes.

  
Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he looks down at himself trying to ascertain the worst of the damage, to order the chaos and decide which injury requires the most urgent attention.

  
His heart lurches when he hears the floo blare again.

  
The comforting numbness which has protected him for the past day dissolves under a wave of total debilitating terror. The change in his husband's routine to bring him home so early, leaves Percival reeling with confusion. Each new here has left him more and more downtrodden, looking down at his thin, damaged body he knows he's perilously close to being pushed past his physical limitations.

  
His bedroom door creaks open, and he cowers against the side of the bed. Folding his hands over his head, he screws his eyes shut defending himself in the only way that is still open to him.

  
He's seized by his upper arms and lifted physically onto his feet, refusing to open his eyes and see what is in front of him. He's marched from the room, still with his eyes shut, his head is at once achy and incredibly light.

Descending the stairs causes his heads to swim and vertigo nearly overwhelms him. He's nearly glad to be being held upright, without the strong hands digging bruises into his upper arms he knows he's be unable to remain up right. Even with help he's shaking like a dying dog.

  
He's dragged into the living room, stumbling over his feet, panic simmering under his skin, and pressed face first into the wall. Arms bracket his body and the weight of another body presses him forward.

  
He squirms forward as best he can away from the pressure on the welts on his back, and tilts his hips as far away from those pressed up against him. There is nowhere for him to go, sagging in the hold, helpless he waits.

  
Breathing sounds hot and heavy into his ear, and his stomach twists as he feels his pants being tugged down. “No” he begs tears welling up in his eyes even as he braces his forehead against the cool plaster of the wall acknowledging his own helplessness.

  
“What did you say!?!” It's hissed at him, the voice hard and unfriendly, but the wandering hands pause, the body behind his stills. Despite his fear he tries to appease his partner, begging to be released as best he can in the hopes of being spared this one rape if he fawns pathetically enough.

  
“You're mine” his husband tells him, thrusting against his bare buttocks. His heart sinks.

  
“Please” he whispers looking back over his shoulder from tear filled eyes pleading, begging for mercy, " not yet, please not yet, I can't".

  
His begging is cut off into pants of pain in mid sentence, he'd known he wouldn't be able to put his husband off but the rough breach still comes as a shock and has him scrabbling for purchase as the thrusts rock into his unwilling body.

  
His husband murmurs possessive, angry statements into his ear the whole time he's inside him. Percival endures this latest violation, and tries to contain his sickness at the dominating words, the cruel hurtful touches.

  
As soon as it's over, the other man pulls out of his body, he clenches in pain but still feels a wave of fluid drip from him.

  
“ Look at you” the words are purred into his ear, the whisper of breath rustling his hair, “ you'll be going, covered in your master.”

  
The words confuse him, he didn't know he was going anywhere. He has no time to ponder the point, over even get dressed properly, as his pyjama trousers are tugged roughly upwards and he's steered towards the floo.


	24. Chapter 24

He stumbles out of the floo, back into the station at his husband's office. Once again humiliating himself by crashing painfully to his knees. Like last time he doesn't remain on his knees, unlike last time it's because he crumples sideways into a heap unable to remain upright.

  
Footsteps hurry towards him and he curls into the smallest ball he can manage, hoping in bone deep desperate anguish that no one will touch him, that he won't have to bear the press of another's flesh on his. Even in this his wishes go ignored as he's turned roughly over onto his back, panicked at the vulnerable position and surrounded by strangers he squeezes his eyes shut again.

  
Rapid italian is snapped urgently overhead, and then his husband taps his cheek hard, he opens his eyes obediently. Above him half a dozen faces swim, his husband looks angry but most of the other faces look shocked.

  
He's tugged to his feet, while his husband argues rapidly with a man who must be his superior. The two men gesture at him and the whole room looks from him to them and back again.

  
Eventually both men come to some agreement and the superior, looking regretfully at Percival, places on hand on Percival's shoulder despite his filthy, blood coated shirt and squeezes. He flinches in pain, his husband slaps him while the stranger looks sympathetically at him, placing a restraining hand on his husband's arm preventing him from giving Percival a backhand.

  
Then he's turned away from the gathered crowd and pushed along, heart beating a rapid taboo in his anxiety Percival allows himself to be lead unprotesting. He now fears his husband's wrath far more than he fears wherever they are going.

  
They step out into the dull morning , it's not raining but it's bitterly cold. His breath rises in clouds while his bare feet chill on the frozen ground. Then he's tugged into a side along and the world disappears.

  
They rematerialize in what looks like an abandoned building, puddles have dripped through the roof onto the floor and it's somehow even colder inside than it was outside. A spider skitters across the floor, he watches it, numb to everything but his nerves.

  
His eyes burn with tears, and vomit keeps rising high in his throat. He keeps his throat tight against it and breathes as deeply as he can tilting his head back a little to gaze at the ceiling. He locks his knees, fights not to faint and waits.

  
They stand silently, Percival can hear a bird singing and beyond that the noise of water flowing. It sounds peaceful, too exhausted to maintain his state of heightened alert, he relaxes by degree despite his attempts to remain ready for anything.

  
He doesn't realise his eyes have dropped shut until the crack of appiration scares him, he steps backwards onto his husband's feet, startles again and falls.

  
He falls flat onto his back, striking an elbow as he does. The blaze of agony as his wounded back hits the floor, wipes all higher reasoning from his mind.

  
He's aware he's been keening in his pain, when a silencing charm washes over him, and the toe of a shoe kicks out at his hip. It catches another wound sending him into another paroxysm of suffering.

  
He flips over onto his side as best he can, then lies in the dirt, panting. His cheek presses into the cold, damp of the floor, the chill leaching the life out of him.

  
He can hear the newcomer speaking to his husband but doesn't try to follow what is being said.

  
He stares at the weeds growing up out of the dirt floor as he sprawls inelegantly. Time blurs, stretching and compressing around him, his heart beats an uneven rhythm, his breath tastes of blood.

  
Eventually a hand fists in his shirt and he's hauled upright, once the hand releases him, he falls again unable to remain standing without support. With a snarl of rage, his husband forces his broken body to stand on shaky legs supporting him with an arm around his upper chest pressing Percival's wounded back against his chest. He is unable to hold his own head up and it lolls on his neck.

  
He's shoved forward and he slumps into the body of the man before him. He slides down the stranger's body as his knees buckle until he's kneeling, head resting against the man's hip.

  
His husband voice snaps out a spell, and as his body is lifted he hears a protest from the new stranger.

  
Whatever he's saying gets cut off as Percival's body gets enclosed in a box, which then levitates. Percival gives a whole body jerk at the strange feeling of being suspended.

  
His whole body shakes harder, sweat beginning to drip, as he realises that he's being given to this man.

Tears of shame creep down his face at the notion that he's being passed around, he assumes that he's being offered as leverage for intelligence or as a favour. His heart burns with grief at having sunk so low as to be worth so little.

  
Trapped alone, he cries.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these chapters got posted in one go so if you've not already you should start at chapter 17. Or it might not make so much sense.

Huddled in total darkness, his breathing stutters under the force of his terror. While fighting to regain control over his breathing, he loses his control over his stomach. In the cramped confined space he vomits, each heave sending spirals of pain through him and losing him precious fluids. When his stomach ceases to rebel, he curls as far back in his tiny box as he can manage, edging away from the puddle of bile he's left.

  
He has very little space to maneuver in, the whole box a couple of inches bigger in every direction than Percival himself is when he's curled into a fetal position on his side. He can move a little but not sit up or turn over.

  
He pushes down thoughts of running out of air and dying alone in the darkness.

  
Deep down he knows that dying in such a manner might well be the least of his worries, whomever has him now is unlikely to want merely to kill him without having had their fun making use of his body, and if they do they probably want to be more proactive in his demise than leaving him to suffocate.

  
He wonders dryly whether before long he'll be looking back on his time trapped in a box with fond reminiscent.

  
He doesn't have much time to ponder this before without any warning, the lid of his box vanishes and he's left blinking rapidly vision completely obliterated by the influx of light.

  
Shapes and colours swarm over his retinas before condensing and solidifying into images he can make sense of.

  
The man from the abandoned building looks down at him, he's biting his lip and rubbing two fingers anxiously over the space between his top lip and his nose. Percival stares back at the stranger, taking in his swarthy appearance, the stranger is huge bigger even than his husband had been and with the kind of physique that suggests he breaks rocks for a living then wrestles bears as a hobby.

  
A thrill of fear passes through him, making him feel dizzy and sending his hands and feet numb. Hands that are surprisingly gentle reach into to coax him out of his box, touches remaining soft and slow despite the mess of vomit and blood that covers him.

  
Once he's out he's supported over to a no-maj vehicle, and propped up to lean against its shiny metal frame. The cold of the metal seeps through the thin material of his pyjamas and he shivers.

  
Instantly he is enveloped by a warming charm, the heat soothing his aches and reaching down into his frozen body as far as the bone deep chill that has been residing within him for days. Blinking, so completely confused by the unexpected turn of events he doesn't even think to thank his benefactor.

  
“Take off these” the other man says touching his pyjama shirt with one finger tip.

  
The blood leaches out of Percival's face, feeling betrayal swell up within him, all the while cursing himself for being such a fool, it had taken a few gentle touches and one tiny display of mercy and he'd trusted him captor.

  
Unable to speak, a lump forming in his throat enormous and burning through his esophagus, tear begin again to streak down his cheeks. His breathing stutters and hitches, catching on every inhalation and exhalation like a tormented child's would.

The other man gazes at his concern and confusion written across his broad face.

“Darling they are filthy,” the man tells him hesitantly as though he might be more concerned about losing his pyjamas rather than being kidnapped and ordered to strip by a stranger.

  
They stand gazing at each other warily, for several longs seconds, until with a suddenness that catches them both by surprise Percival's legs give out and he slides down against the car. The other man makes a grab for him and he twitches back smacking his head hard against the metal, with a jolt that makes his jaw ache and rattles his teeth. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms over his head, back pressed up against the solid structure behind him he braces himself for harsh correction for flinching from the others touch.

  
Fingers card through his hair, catching on the knots but not pulling. Soothingly petting his hair back, not letting up or reacting to the fact that his hair is filthy, the stranger patiently pets him back to a semblance of serenity.

  
When he's not shaking quite so violently, and his breathing has quieted a little, he's encouraged to raise his head with tender pressure. Glancing through his lashes at the other man Percival refuses to uncoil from his protective stance more than is absolutely necessary.

  
“Here” a phial of blue potion is brought into view, “drink this.”

  
Reasoning that whatever is in the phial it's better to drink it consensually rather than be forced, he tilts his head back and allows the potion to be poured into his mouth.

  
It's like someone has turned down his mental activity, his whirling brain slows and his heart rate begins to beat at a more normal rhythm. His volatile emotions are smoothed into silence, even his bodies nagging over its physical anguish is distanced.

  
“Better?” He blinks slowly as he tries to find any response, his eyelids wanting to slide shut and not open again. A huff of almost rueful laughter, rolls past his ear, and he's lifted back onto his feet.

  
A muttered spell, not an American one he knows, is uttered and it takes the bulk of his weight. Then his pyjama shirt is unbuttoned, he watches, aware he should be horrified and panic stricken but unable to summon these emotions from under the comforting blanket of calm he's been supplied with, as more and more of his chest and torso is revealed. Once it's been slipped off his body, his trousers are removed too.

  
He watches the other man through slitted eyes, wondering almost idly how his body will be used, instead the other man turns away and rummages in the front of the car. He return a few seconds later wand held between his teeth, a dead rabbit in his hands.

  
Percival watches confounded as he sets the rabbit down and takes his wand back in hand. Then he starts transfiguring the little body, it grows larger and more humanoid. The other man keeps looking at Percival then back at his work as though he expects Percival's input on the matter. He has nothing to say that will help the lunatic so he allows him to modify the dead creature to his satisfaction.

  
It takes him far longer than he should to realise the new corpse he's looking at is his.


	26. Chapter 26

He stares at his own dead likeness, horrified beyond anything else that has happened to him recently.

Even through the comforting fog of his sedation he feels sick. He turn accusing eyes on the degenerate that's still fussing over the corpse's imitation of his own face.

  
The other man feeling the weight of his stare turns, and smiles at him brightly, like a child whose received sweets or a present. Then he turn back to the corpse dressing it in Percival's clothing, before turning back and casually asking Percival for his wedding ring.

  
Percival stands naked, brutally injured and understands. He's cracked, he's not sure when, but at some stage his sanity slipped over the edge into madness it's the only explanation. He blinks owlishly at the figment of his imagination and starts to giggle helplessly.

  
The imaginary construct looks very concerned, he keeps asking Percival “what's wrong?” His hands fluttering,never remaining still, although he never touches Percival harshly. Percival can't stop his giggles even though they have begun to sound increasingly desperate, bubbling up out of him, his body shaking with the force his breathing totally out of sync.

  
“Have you hurt your head” strong hands that could inflict so much pain, curve around the back of his skull, the warmth of the big palms seeping into his skin, searching for cuts or bumps. He shakes his head against the hand that is still cupping his skull, his filthy hair catching against the calloused palm.

  
His new imaginary friend ducks a little to try and look Percival in the eye, but he keeps his eyes averted from it, wary of appearing confrontational now, he's had his pride beaten out of him and his new habits have been born of lessons hard learned. He watches out of the corners of his eyes and from under his lashes, while the other man appears to grow more confused and slightly distressed in the face of his hysteria. “Darling” the other man says placatingly. It reminds him suddenly of Gellert how would call him that, his accent twisting the syllables into something unique.

  
“Don't" he means to snarl it at the newcomer, for taking liberties, assuming that he may speak to Percival in such a manner, but it comes out more pleadingly than he would have liked.

  
The other man back away immediately, his hands spread out before him in supplication, hurt written vividly across his features. He pauses licks his lips, swallows then reaches one hand slowly out to Percival, “You are upset” he says slowly hesitant, in the face of Percival's breakdown. “This will not take much longer, then we will return to my home” he nods at Percival in a conciliatory manner, “if we just finish this quickly then…” the man pauses then with a shrug that throws everything skywards, hands, shoulders even eyebrows he tuts at himself in exasperation.

  
“You're cold” he says gesturing at Percival encompassing his nudity with the wave of one hand. Percival stares at him, too bewildered to follow the conversation properly, well aware he's missing pieces of the puzzle. He beginning to feel calmer again, the sea of tranquility is closing over him again leaving him awash with numbness. Realising the man expects a response he decides to humour his own psyche and dips his head in a nod.

  
Immediately a wand is pointed at him, and he gives a weak flinch, which causes the wand to droop and a sheepish expression to break out over the others face, “I'm sorry, darling, I forget that rash actions cause you upset now, forgive me” his intonation rises towards the end as though it's a question.

  
Percival questions even the sanity of his own imaginary constructs within his own delirium.

  
He means to ask the other any of the questions that are bubbling on his tongue, he has dozens, he wants to know where he is, how long he's going to be here, what the other man wants with him, why he wants his wedding ring.

  
Instead he asks “ what's your name?”

  
Now it's someone else's turn to blink stupidly, Percival is selfishly glad he gets to see this expression on somebody else's face, the other looks like he's had a lobotomy staring at Percival as though he's turned into a parrot. Except they're both wizards so that wouldn't provoke as much bewilderment as his simple question has produced.

  
The other wizard stares at him without moving or blinking or even as far as Percival can see breathing for a good minute or two, before his expression clears and understanding dawns across his face.

  
There's a brief pause then the air simmers around him, like the haze above a road on a hot summers afternoon, and Gellert is left standing where the other man had stood. He grins at Percival while managing to look contrite.

  
Distantly through the haze of his enforced calm, Percival feels painfully embarrassed for not realising sooner who it was that had removed him from his husband's clutches. Although even with the evidence standing looking hangdog and apologetic before him, he still doesn't understand how this has happened.

He can't unravel the threads that lead to Gellert knowing about his difficulties and how he'd managed to sneak him out. Or not even sneak him out given that he's been handed over freely.

  
Unable to form any intelligent response he gapes dumbly at Gellert, who is canny enough to know when he's not about to get a response and who sets about doing what he does best.

  
Organising everyone and everything around him to his specification.

  
He conjures clothes and helps Percival into them, the material is clean, thick and warm, he feels a pang at the idea of it touching his dirty skin, but despite his guilt he doesn't tell Gellert not to. He knows there will be time enough to lose his nice things through his bad behaviour without having to reject them outright.

  
With Percival once again dressed warmly, with Gellert chattering, voice pitched low, intimate and soothing, about how he hadn't realised that Perival would have been brought “only in his pyjamas” and that he'd expected than Percival would have been able to “travel home in his base layers”.

  
Percival struggles to keep track of the conversation and then as it becomes apparent that Gellert isn't really expecting a reply he stops bothering, instead merely allowing the comfort of the others familiarity to wash over him, pacifying his overwrought mind.

  
Warm and only semi conscious, he offers no resistance when Gellert removes his wedding ring, and places it instead on the hand of the corpse. He doesn't offer any protest when he's lead a few feet away and coaxed to lean into Gellerts side, as the dark Wizard levitates the body into the vehicle and then without so much as blinking sets the whole lot ablaze.

  
He's too tired to even be surprised as he watches the fire burn for a few minutes before Gellert smothers the flames with a flick of his wrist.

  
Clouds of smoke are drifting upwards mingling unpleasantly with the damp air of the midmorning, but through the smoke he can see that while charred both the car and the corpse are recognisable for what they are. Given the wedding ring the corpse will also be identifiable Percival thinks in a moment of crashing realisation.

  
Gellert puts his wand in the air over their heads and sends up a huge shower of multicoloured sparks. It's pretty but it will attract plenty of attention, Percival stiffens fearing his husband turning up to deal with a disturbance and catching him, he's not even really managed to get away.

  
As though he's said the words out loud Gellert takes his hand, and without any signs of effort at all he apparites them both.


	27. Chapter 27

Percival's knees give out when they rematerialize, his head spins and nausea claws at him unrelentingly. Gellert makes a grab for him, hands catching on his clothing, slowing Percival's descent rather than preventing it. He kneels, retching, his whole body slumping closer and closer towards the ground.

  
He startles a little when Gellerts hand begins to rub his back, he wishes he could find the breath to ask him to stop, despite knowing Gellert wants to help the hand on his whipped back is agonizing.

  
When the wave of sickness has passed, and his pain has diminished into something that is nearly tolerable, Percival struggles upwards. Gellerts strong hands slide into his armpits to help physically hoist him onto his feet.

  
His lack of strength means it's only Gellerts quick actions that keep him on his feet, when he sways dangerously. Gellert slides an arm around him, and encourages Percival's arm over his own shoulders, taking most of his weight. Percival allows his head to sag sideways onto Gellerts shoulder making full use out the height difference between them.

  
Gellert moves slowly towards his home, walking steadily as though trying to jostle Percival as little as possible.

  
Percival is amazed to see that there are flowers growing in Gellert's tiny backyard. It strikes him as amusing that the darkest wizard of the age apparently cultivates lilacs and pansies.  
Gellert steers them both up the steps and opens the door that deposits them into the kitchen at the back of the house.

  
The house wards wash over him catching on his back, he twitches and let's out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. Gellert makes a soothing sound low in his throat but doesn't otherwise comment, his brows are drawn together in a frown of concentration as he edges them both forward supporting all of Percival's weight.

  
It's just as warm and as welcoming as it had been when Percival had last seen it barely a week ago. It feels so disorientating to think that he was here only a week ago, when it seems like a lifetime ago.

  
Gellert flicks his wand at the kettle, which goes to fill itself with water, he then continues through the kitchen leaving the appliance to its own devices. At the doorway from the kitchen to the hall, Gellert shakes his head and gives up supporting Percival's weight, and instead sweeps the smaller man into his arms and carries him up the stairs, muttering an apology when Percival reacts with agitation to the movement and the pressure against his wounds.

  
In Gellert's arms feeling his heart beating steadily through the layers of clothing that separates them, Percival begins to calm again despite the discomfort of his injuries. Muscle memory kicks in at the feel of Gellert's arms around him and the smell of the other man surrounding him, and his muscles relax. His head lolls further into the crook of Gellert's neck, nose pressing into the warm space between neck and shoulder. “You're still cold” Gellert tells him again, obviously upset by the fact.

  
He doesn't say anything further though just kicks gently at one of the doors off the landing and carrying Percival inside.

  
The lights in the room come on in response to their master's presence and the sudden influx of light has Percival squeezIng his eyes shut, tears welling up in response to the stimuli. He blinks rapidly, fighting to get his eyes to adjust to the light and be able to help Gellert rather than be a burden to him. He tries to lift his head to offer his assistance, but to his dismay Gellert puts him down.

  
He's mollified a little by the gentleness that Gellert displays, arranging his broken body tenderly so that his head is supported by whatever he is propped up against. Gellert turns away to begin to run the bath taps, steam appears in the air immediately.

  
Percival watches as Gellert begins to busy himself, searching through cupboards pulling out towels, soaps and various lotions and potions.

  
“I do not think you will be able to wash yourself” Gellert tells him rather unnecessarily, “ would you rather I found another to help you?” Percival shakes his head slightly, too exhausted to speak, he's on the verge of passing out again he knows, his eyes are at half mast and with every blink it's taking more and more effort to open them again.

  
Both men drift into silence while the bath fills, but it's a comforting silence Percival had lived with Gellert for a year and he knows that the man is prone to stretches of silence, if there is nothing to say he doesn't. It's comforting to know he hasn't changed, and it's nothing like the tense angry silences that he'd suffocated under during his marriage.


	28. Chapter 28

When the bath has finished running, Gellert cuts the taps off with a wave of one long finger. Then he crouches down beside Percival again and touches the sleeve of his shirt with one hand, the heat of his palm bleeds through the material and into Percival.

He welcomes the touch, comforting and unthreatening, it's a touch that's meant to aid him rather than cause him harm and his semi conscious mind delights in the distinction.

  
“This needs to come off” Gellert tells him, his voice is quiet and he speaks in a carefully moderated tone, clearly afraid of worrying Percival.

  
Percival tries to smile and forces himself to nod again, he want to be more proactive but his body just doesn't have enough left to let him.

  
At his nod, Gellert magics away his clothes then goes to slide and arm around his back and the other under his knees. It's Gellerts turn to flinch back violently, either at Percival's hiss of pain or at the feeling of Percival's raw seeping flesh under the palm of his hand.

  
“Sorry!” He blurts, his expression shifting between nauseated and furious when he gently eases Percival forward enough to look at his back. “ This needs cleaning,” Gellert says after a long moment “ this will hurt”, he continues chewing on his lower lip, sadness and anxiety bleeding into his words.

  
Then he picks Percival up again in one quick movement, not giving him time to anticipate the pain and worry about it. It's only when he's lowered Percival into the wonderfully warm bathwater, that Percival can see the nerve ticking just below Gellerts left eye.

  
He's so close to Percival, still leaning over him as he supports his body in the tub, that Percival manages to find enough strength and coordination to lift his hand and rub his thumb over that ticking muscle.Trying to soothe away the cares that are causing the frown on the man's face.

Gellert catches his hand squeezes it, then drops a kiss onto the back of it. It's only because they are both now looking at his hand that they see the large bruise that marrs its surface. Gellerts face tightens again.

  
He doesn't get angry with Percival though, he just grabs a towel folds it a few times then passes it under Percival's head to support it, rather than the hard edge of the tub. Then he grabs another soft cloth and begins to wipe the dirt, grime and blood from Percival's skeletal frame.

  
The water gets dirty quickly, and Percival finds himself oddly embarrassed at the dingy liquid, Gellert doesn't say anything about it though he just squeezes Percival's hand again and continues to reveal cleaner skin with every swipe of the cloth.

  
It takes two fresh tubs of water before Percival's body is clean and he's sitting in hot, water. Gellert reaches over to find one of the bottles and holds it up for Percival to see.

  
“Antiseptic” he says “it'll clean everything before we heal you, I don't want you to get an infection darling, you're so thin”

Gellert pauses and looks down at Percival's legs. His knees are the thickest parts of his legs now there is no muscle to fill them out. It is one of the starkest reminders of how frail he now is, his ribs protrude but as covered as he is in bruises it's harder to notice.

  
“ It's gentle on wounds and unscented” Gellert tells him, clearly reading it off the bottle, but making an attempt at sounding like he knows what he's doing, as though he makes a hobby of healing critically injured ex's in his bathroom. “ So you won't be wandering around the house smelling like a botanical gardens” he tells Percival solemnly.

Percival doesn't laugh as much as he blows air a little harder out of his nose than he normally does, but Gellert seems to take it as hearty praise on his nursing skills. He smiles, dimple in his cheek appearing then empties most of the bottle into the water.

  
Whoever said it was gentle on wounds needs AKing Percival thinks savagely, trying not to let his distress be too noticeable, thankfully the burn dies away swiftly.

  
“ I'm getting us a drink” Gellert tells him, despite Percival's attempts to look awake he clearly doesn't trust to Percival own abilities to keep himself alive for even five minutes, as he places a bubble head charm on Percival and leaves the room.

  
Percival lies back, warm, as close to pain free as he's been in a while, sleepy and safe. His head is cushioned by the towel and he begins to drop off his limbs going heavier and heavier.

  
He's all but asleep, when a mug clatters onto the side of the tub next to his head, he blinks his heavy eyes open, to see Gellert smiling fondly at him over the rim of another mug. His eyes are crinkled at the corners and his dimple is showing again.

He sets his own mug down and reaches for Percival's holding it up to his lips and encouraging Percival to take a sip, it's warm, not hot, chocolate, it slips down his parched throat beautifully, rinsing the taste of vomit from his mouth.

  
When he's had about half the mug Gellert sets it down and reaches for his wand. He shuffles on his knees so he's closer to Percival's head then eases an arm around that back of his shoulders again to tilt him forwards and check on his back.

Percival feels the healing spell take effect, the knitting of his flesh a crawling sensation that is unpleasant despite the reduction in pain the healing brings.

  
He's surprised when Gellert proceeds to gently shift him forwards and then climb fully clothed into the bath behind him. Head turning to see what the idiot is doing, he jerks with surprise when water cascades down over his hair and flows down over his neck and shoulders.

“ It's easier from this angle” Gellert tells him, and he can feel the vibrations of the words rumbling through the other man's chest, into his back.

  
Strong hands, begin to massage soap into his filthy hair, powerful fingers rubbing at the tense muscles at the top of his neck and the sensitive spots behind his ears.

It feels amazing, and combined with the powerful body nestled up close behind his, to his shock and horror he feels the first stirrings of arousal.

He jerks out of his sleepy doze, violently enough that water slops over the side of the bath, hitting the floor with a smack. Panic crashing through him.

  
“It's ok” Gellert tells him, calm as anything despite the flood of bathwater now on the floor.

  
“No.. Gellert … I" Percival struggles to articulate his terrifying feelings, nerves creeping in too because now he's caused a mess, such a thing wouldn't have been tolerated by his husband.

  
“It's ok” the other man tells him firmly, reassuringly. Percival can't quite believe him, but to his great relief his initial panic has caused the feeling to diminish.

  
The hands in his hair don't stop their gentle massage, unless more warm water is being doused over him, drawing the grime and grease from his hair. Gradually under the compassionate ministrations he relaxes again.


	29. Chapter 29

His head keeps dropping exhaustedly back onto Gellerts shoulder and the bathwater has started to cool beyond the point of being tepid, when Gellert eases them both from the bath fussing about Percival getting cold and becoming ill.

It's so nice to be shown some consideration, some genuine human warmth, Percival allows himself to relax just luxuriates in the mercy he's been granted.

Gellert dries himself with one click of his fingers before, dropping a towel over Percival's shoulders. He dries Percival off gently, as though he's something precious, patting the new skin of his back with the towel rather than the vigorous rubbing he uses on his limbs to draw heat into then.

When Percival's warmly dressed in new thick, navy blue pyjamas, Gellert grabs a dry towel in one hand and scoops Percival up into his arms again, despite thinking that he could probably have staggered along using the wall to prop himself up Percival doesn't offer a peep of resistance. Simply leans further into the solid strength of Gellert, and basks in the safety of his presence.

Gellert carries him into a bedroom, which causes Percival to stiffen slightly, he ~~loves~~ likes Gellert but he's still not had all his injuries seen to and he's covered in bruises. He steels himself to please Gellert as best he can despite his exhaustion.

Gellert sets him down on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and the turning away rummaging through a small cupboard.

Percival ponders what he should do, then coming to a decision slips from the bed onto his knees.

He wants to please Gellert, he doesn't want to bore the man, or frustrate him, but he doesn't think he can bring himself to offer his body. The thought of hands between his legs, on his body, touching, grabbing and grappling at his flesh makes him squirm, but he can offer Gellert his mouth. Breathing deeply and reminding himself of his earlier arousal he tells himself determinedly that he's not going to be a pathetic day tripper, teasing Gellert then refusing the other man in the next breath, not after everything he's done for him.

Besides it's not as though he hasn't done it before, and he'd always loved it. Kneeling on the rug in Gellert's bedroom he still feels his anxiety spike, as he hopes the other man will be satisfied with his mouth, and forcing himself to feel grateful for the soft material of the carpets cushioning his knees from the floorboards.

His pep talk lasts until Gellert turns, a small jar in his hands, Percival means to smile at him, maybe say something sexy or suggestive.

Instead he stares wide eyed at Gellert, and every single thought in his head except for how little he wants to do this right now, leaves him in a staggering rush.

“Darling?” Gellert asks him, cocking his head slightly to the side and regarding Percival confusedly as though this might be some new  lovable quirk of Percival's personality that he's been cultivating.

“Please” he blurts desperately, he means please don't, or at least please don't make me beg you not to if you're going to do it anyway or if you _are_ going to please make it quick.

He doesn't realise tears are slipping down his cheeks till Gellerts hands close softly around his face, he forces himself to stillness, but all Gellert does is brush away his tears with his thumbs.

The jar lies abandoned on the carpet a few feet away, he recognises it as one that he used to own before his husband trashed his bathroom, it's a healing salve. Gellert follows his gaze and glances at the jar too.

“ It will soothe your back,” he tells Percival “ you're healing but the skin is new and dry, this will prevent you from cracking, you can put it on yourself if you like, I won't touch you ..”

Percival starts at the admission, and Gellert trails to a stop, seemingly adding up Percival's submissive position and his distress.

“I won't touch you,” he tell Percival again firmly now, not harshly or angrily just quiet and definite. With resolve, “ I won't touch you unless that's what you want, and I won't touch you..” he pauses as he searches for words, waving a hand as he thinks. “Intimately,” he decides finally looking as though he's discarded about 4 or 5 other variations of the theme “ until you're healed and certain that's what you want, I'd never force you darling”

Which is true Percival thinks vaguely, his head spinning with relief, but strangely he feels disappointed too, and a little anxious, he has known his worth in this manner for a while, it's what was wanted and expected of him and now he feels lost. Strangely unsafe without the knowledge of how he can prove himself.

“ I don't mind” he blurts stupidly, despite the fact that he does mind. Gellert brushes the hair back of his forehead, rests his forehead against Percival's and looks at him steadily.

“ You're frightened” Gellert tells him succinctly, then gently hushes Percival's denials, “you're unwell, I want you” he continues bluntly, “but I want you when you want it too, not like this” he shakes his head, skin brushing Percival's his dry hair dragging across Percival's still damp strands.”not like this.” He reiterates.

“Come on,” he continues after a few moments of silence, continuing on with looking after Percival as though nothing had happened. He gathers Percival back into his arms, and sets him back in the bed. Then he sits down beside him and gets the jar, “ me or you?” He asks not beating about the bush, just getting on with what needs to be done to make Percival feel better.

“You, please” Percival tells him and he means it, he trusts Gellert and it'll be easier for someone else to do it, but when his shirt is rucked up and he feels another's hands on him he can't help but tense.

To his relief Gellert doesn't ask him if he's sure or stop, he just massages the salve into the tender flesh of his back, while chatting away about nothing of import, just snippets of information and tall tales.

It's familiar, and the hands don't go too far down his back, the touches remain light and gentle, and his body relaxes even as his mind remains slower to give up its defensive hold.

He can't help but breathe a sigh of relief when his shirt is tugged back down, Gellert then hands Percival his own wand and pushes another medical text over towards him. “You'll want to do this yourself?” Knowing that he's talking about his more private injuries, Percival flushes and accepts both. Gellert smiles sadly at him and turns away to replace the jar in the cupboard, taking his time letting Percival cast the spells he needs.

It takes more effort that it should and his hands are shaking after applying the few healing spells he really needs, deciding to leave the rest until he's had a chance to recuperate a little.

Upon hearing the book being placed on the bedside cabinet, Gellert turns back retrieves his wand, tucking it into his jacket pocket, then sits back down. He grabs the towel, then nods at Percival's still damp hair, with a quizzical eyebrow, questioning.

At Percival's nod, he begins to rub his hair dry, starting up  his inane chatter again, blathering on about a cat from a few doors down that sneaks in and digs up his garden. Remembering the pretty flowers Percival strives not to smirk.

He begins to drift again, body going leaden, length of time between blinking and managing to open his eyes again lengthening exponentially every time they slide shut.

He's shifted till he's lying down, and the covers arrange themselves warmly around him, then the bed shifts as Gellert goes to get up. Percival jolts into higher consciousness and grabs Gellert's wrist, before realising what he's doing and dropping it again as though he's burnt himself.

He doesn't want Gellert to leave, doesn't want to be left alone, he fear that this, all of this, the warm bath, the tender care of his wounds, the hot chocolate, is all a fever dream, his desperate broken mind finding sanctuary wherever it can. He fears he's still huddled on the floor in the room he was allowed to sleep in in his husband's house, dying from wounds inflicted at his husband's hands.

It's stupid to feel as though Gellert can keep such an outcome at bay, but he feels safer with the other man, and doesn't want him to leave. And he acknowledges to himself if this is a dying delirium it's a nice one, he could die like this he thinks. Safe with (imaginary) Gellert chatting rubbish, about the tribal trials and tribulations of his suburban life.

He's anxious that he touches the other man without permission though too, he folds his hands into his lap, twisting then around each other so he won't be tempted to make any more grabs for Gellert, and tries to straighten his thoughts so he can coherently explain himself. All the while remaining braced for a crucio for grabbing at the other man without asking, he knows Gellert wouldn't, but he can't stop his instinctive reactions.

Gellert says nothing though, just drops his weight back onto the mattress, and curls around Percival. Arranging both their bodies comfortably he hooks his chin onto the top of Percival's head so that Percival is nestled under his chin and into the curve of Gellert's taller frame.

Then he continues his story about the neighbours cat, that is causing him such distress.

Percival let's the heat of his body remind him he's not alone, and the weight of the bed clothes anchor him to the here and now. Let's the soft drone of Gellert's mostly made up stories wash over him, lulling him into sleep, warm and protected.


	30. Chapter 30

He wakes hearing a scratching noise, forcing his eyelids, open he blinks. The room is dimly lit, a couple of charmed candles floating around Gellerts shoulders, as he lounges in the bed, he's reading papers and occasionally making notes using a huge ostentatious peacock feather quill.

He still holds his quill too tightly and there is a smear of ink on his pointer finger and one of his blond eyebrows is stained half blue, where he's run his hand over his face.

Percival only realises his hand is being held when he feels Gellerts thumb bumping gently over each knuckle before pausing and drifting back across them. He twitches his hand in response to the stimulation, and it draws Gellerts immediate attention. He turns revealing more ink smudges on his jaw, and regards Percival for a few seconds, before pressing the back of his hand to Percival's cheek to gauge his temperature.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by Pliny, who flutters down from the doorframe and lands a surprisingly heavy weight on his chest. He reaches the hand still linked with Gellerts out to pet the bird, Pliny takes one look at Gellerts hand and makes a hissing noise that Percival has never heard him make before.

Gellert gives Pliny a look that would have set a lesser being aflame, “he hates me” he informs Percival, still glaring at the bird from beneath bicoloured brows.

Without Gellerts hand in his Pliny is scritching his own face against Percival's still outstretched fingers, his hissing changed into a coo, Percival is delighted to be reunited with his feathered friend but secretly misses having Gellerts strong fingers laced with his.

At Gellerts every move, Pliny hisses or stands on one leg extending his talons towards the dark Wizard in his displeasure. Percival chuckles and scratches the persnickety beastie with his pointer finger, Pliny fawns over him all the while smirking ( if an owl can be said to) at Gellert, who sighs dramatically places an ink stained hand over his chest declaring that he's being “replaced in his own bed” Percival laughs at the pair of them surprising himself with his humour he's not felt to light, so carefree in months.

Pushing himself gingerly to sit, giving Pliny ample time to shuffle downwards to perch haughtily on his knee. Once he's more or less upright he takes takes stock of himself, despite still having less body fat than the average skeleton he's better than he has been in weeks, he's not physically injured, his only complaints that he's stiff and needs to pee more badly than he very has in his life.

After taking care of the latter problem, under the watchful haze of Pliny who apparently now doesn't trust him to go anywhere alone, he wanders back to the bedroom kneading the kinks out of his spine as he goes.

Gellert has been down to the kitchen and made food while he's been away. Gellert is in no way a chef, and Percival is presented with the wonkiest stack of sandwiches he's ever seen, it looks like a children's game where one has to take away part of the tower without collapsing the whole stack. He smiles though at Gellerts satisfied expression at providing for him, he's as proud as punch even though the sandwiches look as though they've been made by a blind man with no previous experience of what a sandwich should be. He takes the plate, takes a bite out of the top sandwich, as Gellert tells him “ I thought that you would be hungry, darling, you've been asleep for three days.”

Percival chokes on his sandwich slightly, surprise running through him at the knowledge. Firstly that he's been out for that long and secondly that apparently Gellert has been keeping a close eye on him, or it's been spectacular timing to wake up with his so close by. He hopes that Gellert has cared enough to want to keep watch over him while he's been under the weather.

He's blinks at Gellert over his food, the other man steals one of his sandwiches either not noticing his surprise or giving him a moment to collect himself.

He muses thoughtfully, as he demolishes the entire stack of sandwiches almost single handedly, over the fact that his marriage is over now and he must be considered dead. His accounts will be confiscated by the American government and if he tries to reclaim them then he will be sent back to his husband or else it will definitely be jail this time, they won't believe he's gone missing innocently twice, he concedes glumly.

Gellert senses his darkening mood and nudges Percival's shoulder gently with his own, when Percival turns to him, he raises his still half blue half blond eyebrow in question.

Percival fumbles for a moment, it seems so selfish and ungrateful to be complaining about money when he feels like he only just escaped alive, but it's still a worry. He has suddenly a whole host of questions he needs to answer, how can he get a job with no identity, with no education that he can prove. He worries his lip between his teeth before sighing heavily and coming clean.

“ It's nothing really,” he attempts to soften what he can't help but see as pure selfishness on his part, Pliny appears from nowhere and lands on his knee, talons poking through his pyjama trousers and scoring lightly against the flesh of his thigh, he scratches the bird's head and avoids Gellerts gaze. “ I just realised that all my worldly goods are in the possession of MACUSA now, I'll have to figure out where I go from here.”

Gellert digests this news thoughtfully, rubbing at his top lip with a single finger while he thinks, despite speaking good English there are moments when Percival can see the gears turning as Gellert mentally translates his words. “Here, darling” he replies after a beat, “ there is no need to go elsewhere, and as for your _worldly goods_ ” Percival smiles able to hear the quotation marks Gellert places on the unfamiliar words “ they're to be collected by your nephew.”

Percival blinks at him, having once again return to the all too depressingly familiar state of being out of his depth, before comprehension dawns leaving him feeling a fool. “Me?”

Gellert hums a non specific agreement and waves a hand between them, indicating that he will go if Percival wants, he can too Percival thinks it's not like any of his co workers had noticed when Gellert had been him for a year, he wouldn't bet on them noticing anything this time either.

Despite everything Percival feels the wave of old hurt rise that he hadn't been missed, that no one had ever come for him. Gellert rubs at his shoulder soothing, and he leans back into the embrace and Gellerts arm sneaks around his shoulders pulling his gently back into Gellerts body. Lips nudge at the curve of his neck, nipping and sucking towards the curve of his jaw.

Heat kindles in his stomach and choking on a whimper, Percival presses further back into the embrace of the only person who hasn't let him down. He feels the lips at his neck curve into a smile.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if anyone is still reading this sorry for the wait, I've been distracted by another fandom, and school work, and real work. My bad!

Gellert is nothing if not focused when he wants to be and Percival watches him, while patting Pliny lazily. Gellert is rummaging around through seemingly every single cupboard, drawer and closet in the entire house, packing for heading back to New York in order to retrieve Percival's things. Percival had tried to talk him into remaining in Europe but Gellert had simply grinned, sharp and wicked before asking Percival more seriously if he wanted to go alone.

When Percival had admitted that he didn't Gellert had shrugged one shoulder and as though that had settled the matter.

Now several days later Gellert is busily concocting disguises for both of them, and is clearly enjoying himself immensely. Percival has endured several hours of Gellert's fussing while he came up with a suitable new identity for Percival. He'd suggested with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes that Percival might want to pose as his niece to collect his own inheritance. He'd laughed at the resultant look on Percival's face, Percival had made sure to get his own back by suggesting that Gellert be the one to wear the dress.

He hadn't expected Gellert to go through with his suggestion, but then even Gellert isn't so reckless as to go back to the same place where he was caught barely half a year ago without a very good disguise.

As a red headed woman,  Gellert is now picking out clothing for both of them.

Gellert had decided that going as a young couple, with Percival playing his own family member would allow for any blood identification to pass easily without the need for extra spells that might get them noticed. Percival still feels nervous and upset about returning to place that had until so recently been his home but has allowed Gellert’s enthusiasm to carry him along, the man is treating returning to the scene of the crime like it's a massive joke or a fun day out.

Turning back to him Gellert passes Percival a suit and then makes all necessary adjustments to it so that it fits like it was made for him, Percival goes back to anxiously petting Pliny while he waits for Gellert. Who seems to be channeling his stolen gender so expertly that he's taking forever to get ready.

It's almost evening by the time they are ready to go and knowing how awful trans Continental travel is Percival doesn't want to put Pliny though the journey.

It's harder than he would have though saying goodbye to his feathered friend. The owl has hardly left his side during his convalescence, perching on the bed stead while Percival had slept, flapping laboriously over his head as he goes between the bed and the bathroom, following Percival as he goes to eat the meals that Gellert has acquired, not cooked definitely not cooked. The birds weight on his shoulder had been a comfort, and now without he feels bereft. Gellert links an arm through his and steers him away from Pliny who glares at Gellert with a hard stare that should have him smouldering.

Gellert waggles his fingers at the bird in a cheery wave, which Percival privately thinks is a good way to lose his fingers. Then they both step into the floor for the first of their trips.

Percival always manages to forget just how passionately he hates floo travel, until he finds himself in a situation where it's unavoidable. As it is he's swallowing back the taste of bile and wondering why he thought it would be a good idea to leave Europe anyway.

Gellert steps out of the fireplace at the international floo station turning heads, and basks in the adoration of his unsuspecting public, most of whom are ogling the evilest dark Wizard the world has ever seen, who is currently resplendent in a frock.

It's a pretty frock, Percival mentally concedes and Gellert has chosen the form of a very pretty girl so it's not surprising that all the men are currently turning to look. However under the gaze of so many people, he feels vulnerable and exposed. Even though none of the looks are aimed at him, he cannot shake the feeling of being watched.

Gellert notices his upset quickly and leans into Percival's side, Percival has to force himself not to twitch at the feeling of Gellert being so much smaller than him currently. Between Gellerts lost inches and Percival having been gifted a few, he feels huge in comparison.

Gellert doesn't seem to be having any such worries, he beams up at Percival, dimpling prettily.

The sight of the smile is so reminiscent of Gellert that it relaxes him, he can feel the muscles in his back unclenching and his breathing levels out.

They have to spend an hour at the station, it's busy and there are people milling about in all directions. Gellert at home in the crowd, in a way that Percival no longer is if indeed he ever was, goes off to get food, leaving Percival to lay claim to a bench.

When Gellert returns he's got the paper and they do the crossword together while eating strange Russian biscuits.

When their travel time is announced Percival, checks to see they haven't left anything then allows himself to be pulled along by Gellerts enthusiasm.

The next stage of floo travel is no better than the first and is marginally longer, when they are finally ejected into the Brooklyn Floo Station Percival is seriously considering damning the expense and getting them tickets back by train, or flying home by broomstick, it can't take more than a week surely.

Gellert links their arms again and allows Percival to apparate them to a spot a few blocks down from the Woolworths building.

Gellert watches him but doesn't say anything, he must be a little surprised Percival knows they were supposed to end up in the lobby. Instead they are a few hundred feet away and his hands are shaking. His whole body is, he's quaking under his well tailored suit.

“Darling?” Gellert prompts him after a few minutes silence.”what's wrong, darling?”

“I don't know” he admits, because it's true he doesn't, there is too much differing emotions for him to nail any one in particular down as the cause. The city feels like home, it's bone crackingly cold in the late afternoon, his clavicle aches from it, but it's home and he's missed it.

Gellert slips a hand into his and squeezes.


	32. Chapter 32

In the end despite his anxiety, the plan goes off without a hitch. They simply stroll into the building, a blood spell confirms his relationship to himself and he's handed the key to his vaults and a box of things that had been his, back when he'd still been Percival Graves.

 

No one stops them, or even glances at him, all eyes are focused on Gellert, who preens under the obviously worshipful gaze of the men in the accounts department.

 

Despite the flickers on jealousy, Percival's relieved that no attention is on him, all through the brief meeting he waits for aurors to come blazing in wands at the ready.

 

He spends most of the time he has to spend in the Woolworths building trying to hide his ever increasing tension as all the ways this could go wrong keep presenting themselves to him.

 

He worries Gellert will be caught, he doubts even MACUSA will be careless enough to simply try arresting Gellert a second time.

 

He resolutely doesn't think about how being here could lead to Gellerts execution, he tightens his hand on the slim one in his, and to his return to his husband.

 

He isn't sure which outcome frightens him more.

 

As soon as they are out of the building he breathes a huge sigh of relief, there is still the last lingering trace of his grief, a bitterness in the back of his mouth as they walk away from the Woolworths building and into the darkness of the winters evening. He knows he'll come come back.

 

Gellert’s hand remains tightly within his and he walks so closely that every few steps Percival can feel his bicep brushing against him.

He allows Gellert to tug him along, passively following, a few streets away and the tug of side along startles him, with its abruptness.

 

He squints in the brightness of the room they rematerialize in, sending a glare down, _down,_ at Gellert, who beams coquettishly back at him, totally unrepentant. The room is warm and a welcome after the bitterness of the New York winter, Gellert tugs him along and settles them both in a booth near the fire, before he turns to wave at the server.

 

Who leaps into action faster than Percival has ever seen anyone move in his entire life, apparently eager to aid the beautiful woman that Gellert is posing as.

 

He settles back into his seat, and tips his head back against the top of the padded leather top, shutting his eyes at the beginnings of a tension headache that is making itself present in his temples.

 

He can hear Gellert ordering, and the servers smooth replies, but doesn't bother to open his eyes or pay attention, safe in the knowledge that whatever Gellert is doing it will work out in his favour.

 

After a couple of minutes the server walks away, his heavy tread vibrating through the furniture, and cool fingers press into his forehead.

 

Percival doesn't bother to open his eyes, he just relaxes as Gellert rubs gently, easing away the pain of a long day, stress, tension and barely healed wounds.

 

His eyes fly open, when one cool finger slides between the buttons of his shirt and grazes over his navel.

 

“Gel-” his retort is cut off by lips coming down over his own.

 

The kiss is sweet and gentle, and after so long without a gentle sensuous touch, his body reacts strongly, warmth runs over him pooling in his groin and his skin feels tight.

 

With Gellert so close his vision is blurry, he's just a haze of pale skin and red hair, but he's solid and warm under Percival's suddenly clutching hands.

 

Gellert nips at his lips and swipes a tongue over the same spot as though to soothe the slight sting he'd caused.

 

Percival responds without thinking, burying a hand in Gellert's hair, tilting their heads and pressing insistently into the kiss, wanting  deeper more intimate contact.

 

A slight cough, is like a bucket of water being thrown over him, and he rears backwards, heart beating raggedly.

 

The server is regarding them, his gaze holds amusement and disappointment in equal measures.

 

“Newly weds?”

 

Percival attempts to calm his heart, and mentally orders his cock to not move as Gellert drops a hand onto his thigh and squeezes while smiling faux bashfully at the server.

 

The man smiles, rolls his eyes, places plates and glasses what looks like contraband, onto the table before them before he disappears again with a smirk and a wink to Percival, while Gellert is fussing over their food.

 

Percival looks down at the food, appetite completely gone, before glancing sideways at Gellert.

 

Sensing he's being watched, Gellert smirks at him, even more filthily than the server had managed to, and begins to make a show out of eating his dinner, kicking and sucking up his food and letting out moans of pleasure.

 

Percival watches him, his trousers becoming tighter and tighter.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a butt, cos I've been gone for ages, so if anyone is still reading then sorry!  
> This isn't proofread as I was nervous about posting after all this time and worried about losing motivation. Anyway here!

They get shown up to a little room above the dining room. Percival is doing his level best to walk normally despite the ache of his groin, he doesn't think he gets away with it due to the funny looks the server now concierge is giving him, Gellert is still beaming widely and keeps touching Percival. Never anywhere too risque just on his arms or across his shoulders, light teasing touches. Percival grits his teeth as heat blossoms under his skin at each touch, fighting to keep his hips still, determined not to draw attention to them, not to embarrass himself by being too needy or excitable.

As soon as the door shuts with the concierge on the opposite side, Percival turns to Gellert, reaching out towards him blindly. Gellert surges forward, pressing Percival back against the door. Percival’s back meets the wood and for a moment he nearly panics, but in this form Gellert is shorter and slighter than he is. Despite Gellert being a better dueler and knowing that Gellert could overpower him if he so chose, he feels safe. Gellert’s lips meet his and Percival hears a whine escape him and feels his cheeks heat. Gellert huffs a laugh against his lips then slides his tongue over Percival’s lips. Percival opens his mouth and let's Gellert lick into his mouth, sucking on the other man's tongue, feeling the heat in his belly burn hotter. 

One of Gellert's hands tugs Percival’s shirt up out of his trousers and a finger slides down the trail of hair running from his bellybutton down into his underwear. Percival groans his hips jerk forward, and Gellert slides a lean thigh between his legs, giving him something to press into and the friction is so good that Percival feels his orgasm approaching despite the relatively chaste touches. 

“Wait,” Percival turns his head to breath more deeply, Gellert immediately attacks the fresh column of skin at Percival's throat that has been exposed to him.

“Wait!” He repeats a bit more urgently.

Gellert backs away like he's been stung.

“Sorry. Sorry darling.” Gellert looks horrified and holds both his hands out flat as though he's try to prove he's unarmed.

“No, no, it's-not, no, I'm just, I'm going to come too soon if you do that.” Gellert smirks, his eyebrows quirking as he does, trying to look alluring. Percival shakes his head, smiling back. Gellert just keeps looking up at him, but his hands flutter back to Percival and begin to run up and down Percival's arms as though to absorb the heat of him.

The contact is nice, soothing, but it gives him a moment to breath and calm down. Gellert slides his fingers between Percival's and tugs gently nodding towards the bed questioningly. Percival squeezes the hand in his own and let's himself be led, sitting down on the mattress reaching up to tug at his tie. Gellert steps up until his legs are pressed up against Percival’s. Percival clenches his fingers in his tie, clutching the material, but spreads his legs a little. Gellert steps into the negative space of his parted thighs, widening the gap, nudging gently, before sliding down to his knees. 

The body nestled between his legs shimmers, like the haze on the road during a hot summer, before Gellert kneels at his feet. Mismatched blue eyes meet his, the pink lips quirk and Percival feels the lust that had been simmering under his skin flare hotter.

He leans down to kiss Gellert the act of kissing familiar and puts him at ease until he can unclench his fingers from his clothes. Gellert puts his hands on Percival's thighs, and he starts. Gellert doesn't pull completely away just pull back a little from the kiss, rests his forehead against Percival's, gives him a chance to speak up. Percival doesn't want to speak, doesn't trust himself to, just nods against Gellerts face. The big hands on his thighs stroke gently up and down, smoothing the material over the lines of his legs.

For a few long moments the only sounds in the room are the wisp of hands on material and the slick sounds of lips meeting. Percival feels himself release a tension he hadn't even known he had been holding, when kissing Gellert is as familiar and as safe as it had ever been. He relaxes and lets his legs sag further apart. Gellert presses closer, wriggling in until Percival can feel Gellerts chest against his belly, the angle must be tough on the other man's neck.

A hand slides up his thigh and cups his groin, and Percival moans, high and needy, his hips bucking into the touch.

Gellert pulls back from the kiss and looks up at Percival, “darling?” He nods down at Percival's crotch with his chin as he asks.

“Yes. Yeah, yeah. Please.” 

Gellert, having been incognito all day, doesn't have gel in his hair, instead the blond strands are flopping over his face and into his eyes. Carefully he runs a hand through Gellert’s hair pushing the wayward strands back, and Gellert presses into the touch, all but purring like a large cat, looking very pleased with himself.

Percival's breath hitches on a moan when he feels Gellerts long fingers opening his trousers, those long fingers slide into his underwear and wrap around his cock. He can't look, if he looks down and sees Gellert on his knees holding his cock he's going to come. He can feel his thighs beginning to tremble already. It occurs to him that he hasn't had sex since Gellert was captured, he's been raped, abused and hurt but he's not had sex. The distressing though dissolves like a mist on a hot morning, when he feels slick, hot heat envelop his cock.

Percival cannot contain the moan that leaves him, fights to keep his hips still and not thrust up into Gellerts mouth.

Gellert takes the fight away from him by sinking his mouth down, down, down Percival's cock until Percival can feel the tight clench of his throat. 

Gellert pulls back slowly, dragging his tongue along the underside of Percival's dick, flicking against the frenulum, then immediately pushing back down, swallowing and humming around Percival's length.

Eyes rolling, all Percival can do is hang onto Gellert’s, surprisingly soft when not gelled, hair and fight not to come embarrassingly quickly.

When he finally finds the strength of will to crack his eyes open he can only tighten his fingers and swear, when he sees Gellert eyes closed, eyelashes fanned over his cheekbones, sucking him down like his cock is the only antidote for a particularly threatening ailment. 

Gellert seems to sense he's being watched and opens his eyes, and makes a quiering noise in his throat. The vibrations roll up Percival's spine, and he can feel his orgasm building inside him. His muscles are beginning to lock up as with every lick and suck he's dragged closer and closer to completion. Gellert smiles around his cock and does something filthy with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, while using one hand to release the fondle Percival's balls. 

Percival moans and comes so hard his vision grey's, his body curls around Gellerts skull while he shakes through his release.

It takes long minutes before he is able to uncurl enough to release Gellert, Percival is still shaking with the aftermath feeling better than he has in  _ months. _

“Let me?” Percival hears his words slur as exhaustion crashes through him, his muscles going loose and pliant under his post orgasm bliss.

Gellert grins up at him, half embarrassed half proud as he holds up a hand, clearly coated in his own release. At the sight of Gellert's obvious enjoyment, Percival groans and his cock twitches, making a valiant attempt at rising again, making him squirm with oversensitivity.

Gellert grins, slithers onto the bed and pulls Percival with him, tucking himself around the smaller frame.

Percival wriggles trying to adjust his clothing, and pull up the blankets, suddenly thinking a nap then having a go at round two is the best idea he's ever had. Gellert waves his clothes away into soft pants, and the blankets curl over them, before settling his nose into Percival's pulse point and going to sleep. 

Percival listens to his deep breathing for a few minutes before he doesn't so much drop off as much as unconsciousness pulls him under.


End file.
